Plaything
by BearandtheBow
Summary: As Bane's Revolution continued to raze over the city of Gotham, Evie was just trying to survive it and help her family. One night she made an unfortunate mistake, causing her to cross paths with a dangerous man who had been craving a new side-project, a fun game to play. (tw's for noncon, dubcon, self-harm, violence etc.)
1. Chapter 1

**Something to do over my winter break. Story takes place during the Dark Knight rises, a couple months after Gotham is cut off from the world.**

Two shadowy figures in the distance, rifles accompanying their vague outlines. Sentinels. Evie quickly slipped into a nearby alley to wait for them to pass. Another set of footsteps could be heard opposite from the guards – a more brisk walker. They stopped a few feet from her. She heard a click, a faint smell of cigarette smoke following. The guards continued toward them. Not keen on watching someone die in front of her (again), Evie bravely poked her head out, peering around the corner. A man leaned against the brick just outside the alley, taking leisurely drags of his cigarette, watching the smoke he blew out mingle with the added steam of his breath against the cold air.

"Hey." She whispered.

The man's head snapped toward her.

"They're coming. It's past curfew – you need to hide." She urged.

Though his features were largely hidden in the faint light of the streetlamps, Evie could tell he was smiling – as if he found her words amusing. Definitely not the panic she expected.

The footsteps were clearer now – you could hear the crunch of the snow under their feet. Exasperated, Evie reached out, grabbing the strangers arm and yanking him into the alley with her.

"Die on your own time." She hissed.

With the cigarette still between his lips, the man let out a muffled chuckle, the glowing tip reflecting in his glasses, before stepping back out into the sidewalk. The guards were right on top of them, and Evie froze as she heard them draw up their weapons. She braced herself for the gunshots, the blood.

"Evening gentlemen." The man said calmly.

"Crane?" Asked one of the guards. "Shit man, we coulda blown you away." They lowered their rifles.

Evie's heart stopped. Crane. She knew that name. Everyone did – especially now – where he was known as the Judge; sending people to their deaths on the ice of the river.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, boys. You can move along now."

"Yes sir." Evie watched in shock as the guards turned on their heels. Crane watched them go, taking one last drag on his cigarette before flicking it onto the snowy street.

"You can come out now." He said softly.

Slowly, cautiously, Evie walked out of her hiding place. "Thanks for not...you know."

"You aren't a person worth killing."

An austere compliment, to be sure. "Well, um, thanks again." Savior or not, Evie wanted to get away from him. She continued her walk.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"Home." Her mouth felt dry. "I was only supposed to be out a minute for food, and, not to sound cliche, but people are probably really worried about me right now-"

"Would you rather they be worried, or devastated?" he interrupted.

"Excuse me?" She asked nervously.

"There will be a dozen or more sentinels on your way home – all with," he smiled, "rather itchy trigger fingers."

"Well I think I'll just avoid trying to play the hero from now on. I'll be fine."

Crane's odd smile faded, and Evie found herself rooted to the ground as he took a few long strides to where she stood.

"Nonsense." He said. She could see his eyes now – even in semidarkness, they were a bright, clear blue, and uncomfortably intense. "My home is right here. Your 'people' will be fine for the night." He put his hand on the small of Evie's back, guiding her across the street to a row of rather nondescript stone houses. He pushed her up the steps to one covered in dead vines, and through the door, where she was met with warmth for the first time that season. He locked the door behind them.

The place reminded Evie of a college professors office – all brown leather and ambient lighting, books on every available surface, maps on the walls, odds and ends strewn about. She lingered awkwardly in the doorway before Crane gestured her to the living room.

"Please, have a seat."

She quickly obeyed, selecting one of the squishy armchairs. "Was this your home before?" She cautiously asked.

"It was not." Crane said stiffly, removing his coat and placing it on a hook near the door. He wore a rather disheveled suit underneath, the seams in one arm were completely ripped, frayed polyester and padding sticking out through the opening. He removed that as well, folding it and setting it over the back of a chair. "My home was eventually sold when they sent me away. I had briefly thought to take it back, but..." He joined her in the living room, sitting on the coffee table in front of of her, "I came across this place instead. For the most part, it was already settled into the way I always wanted."

"Oh...Where are the people who lived here before?"

He shrugged. "Maybe dead, maybe in hiding. Perhaps they were fortunate enough to be on vacation when everything happened. In any case, they aren't here."

Crane obviously looked older and more haggard than the pictures of him shown in the paper every now and again, and in her cousins criminology and psych textbooks. His hair was graying a bit, he sported stubble, but he still retained the familiar full lips and high cheekbones. Looks aside, he had such a strange quality about him – almost as if he were high, but not quite. Eccentric was the word, or close to it, Evie supposed. Crane caught her staring, and gave her a brief once over, causing her cheeks to burn up, and then frowned.

"I forgot to ask you to remove your coat. Would you please?"

She nodded, bringing her shaking hands up to loop the toggles out before unzipping her jacket, unceremoniously shrugging it off and handing it to Crane. He quickly took it and walked back to the doorway, hanging it next to his. She decided to remove her hat as well, shaking out a mess of dark blonde curls. Turning back to her, he smiled, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"What did you do before the 'revolution' started?"

"I went to school." She said plainly. Evie wished she could just leave.

"Gotham University, I assume?"

"Ha." she said nervously. "High school. I was supposed to start 11th. Still hoping for the chance to finish."

Crane's amused expression suddenly contained mild surprise. "You carry yourself much older."

There was a familiar statement. Since she was young, people had always called Evie an "old soul", but men always seemed to say it differently. They would use it as flattery, tell her she was different, and that she needed someone "on her level" (meaning older) to try to justify their attraction to her. They wanted her to say she didn't care, or that age was just a number, but Evie always saw past it. These, however, always came from men who knew her age but pursued her anyway – here was a situation with a man who clearly expressed interest before learning how old she was. An interesting first, except that she did want any part of this particular man's attention.

Crane sat back down in front of her, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat under his steely gaze.

"So," she began slowly, "am I sleeping in here?"

"There's a room upstairs you can sleep in. It actually rather looks like it belonged to a teenage girl."

"Okay."

He glanced at the clock. "Barely 9:30." He murmured. "A little early to be turning in, considering there's no school."

"Please, I don't want you to think I'm not grateful to you – I really am -" Evie rambled, "but, it's just – I don't know you."

"But you know of me." He leaned forward, his blue eyes burning into her amber ones. "That has been all too obvious since you heard that guard state my name." His smile grew wider. "You're scared, aren't you?"

"Who wouldn't be?" she breathed, swallowing down the panic that was quickly building up inside her.

"Fair enough. What is your name?"

"Evie." She said nervously.

"I'm going to be very forward with you, Evie." He continued to stare her down. "I had rather hoped for some interesting conversation at the very least, in return for saving you from certain death. I admit that for a brief moment I imagined having a warm body to lie next to later, but considering your age, I don't think so.

You needn't look at me like that. I am just a man - one who simply wants to live out the last of his days with a few...creature comforts."

Eager to steer to conversation away from from his "creature comforts", Evie quickly asked "Are you dying?"

"We are all dying, Evie." His smile reverted to a knowing smirk.

"I meant are you ill? Terminal?"

"I know what you meant. I meant what I said."

Evie regarded him quizzically. "That we're all going to die?"

"Yes." He stated. "And quite soon."

"Are you talking about the bomb?"

"Sure, Or not. You understand that this place has been building momentum toward mass hysteria, leading to shootings, suicides..." He suddenly got up from his perch on the coffee table to stretch out on the sofa. "One way or another, this city will burn - folding in on itself - and everyone will go down with it. It's just a matter of when."

Like most of the citizens, Evie was hoping that everything would turn out right in the end. Someone would save them – the government, the Batman, maybe even the people of Gotham itself would counter-revolt against this twisted revolution. Someone had to save them.

Crane sighed. "My apologies for upsetting you. Maybe you should go to bed." He sat back up, loosening his tie. "Would you like some tea first? Have you eaten?"

"I'm fine, thank you." Evie struggled to be polite, even attempting a smile. "Where is the room?"

"Upstairs. The blue one." He stared down at the table, selecting a book from the corner.

Evie rose up from her seat and quietly made her way up the stairs. The blue room was at the end of the hall, and it definitely looked like it belonged to a girl close to her age – except this girls parents were apparently cool enough to give her a large bed and a TV. It was a dream room – complete with twinkle lights and a reading nook built into the window.

She carefully picked through the dresser, hoping to find something to sleep in. She found a pair of sweats, but being in a place with actual working heat had been making her feel almost sickly warm. Underwear and a large tee would be fine, for sure – every girl had a large shirt laying around just for sleeping in. One was stashed in the next drawer down; a soft, gray extra-large.

Kicking off her boots and removing her clothes, Evie quickly yanked the tee over her head. _Might even be able to leave her with some new, clean clothes_, she thought to herself. She opened the closet – a walk-in (damn, this other girl was spoiled) and a quick glance through the clothes informed her that they wore the same sizes in most things – most importantly, pants (pants without rips in the knees and friction holes in the thighs). School uniforms took up a small potion of the hanging space. Of course she went to a private school. Evie walked back into the room and to the vanity, where more string lights were hung, accompanied by photos. She wondered which girl in the pictures was the one this room belonged to.

But she didn't dwell on the though for very long, before pulling open the drawer and withdrawing a hairbrush. Evie stared hardly at herself as he brushed out each of her curls. She looked like shit – her features had become more gaunt over the last several weeks, her lips were chapped and she the lavender circles under her eyes seemed to grow darker even as she stared at them. At least her hair had now managed to look decent. Evie rummaged through the rest of the drawers, only finding makeup (expensive makeup). She noticed another door next to the one that led into the hallway – surely it went to a bathroom.

It did, and in the cabinets Evie found everything she was lacking – facial cleansers and new toothbrushes and every kind of toning-moisturizer-face-cream she could think of. She glanced over at the shower, which she could seen contained fancy shampoo and body wash and even a razor. A razor. God – Evie hadn't had a decent shower or smooth legs in what felt like a lifetime. The idea of a hot shower was more tempting than anything.

She settled for a quick face wash with a fancy sugar scrub, an added blackhead strip just for fun. She brushed her teeth five times just because she could, enjoying the feel of the stiff bristles of the new toothbrush, and then decided she could still shave – slathering herself with liberal amounts of body butter that smelled like raspberries and cream to do so and then putting on more when she finished. Evie came out of the bathroom feeling ten times better than she had ever felt her life. She had almost forgot about the strange Dr. Crane, who brought her here under rather odd circumstances. With the thought now at the front of her mind, she slipped on the sweats she had left of the bed and quietly crept out the door. The lights appeared to be off downstairs. She turned to go back into the room, but it suddenly hit her how hungry she was – when was the last time she ate? Breakfast? Quietly, she descended the stairs, feeling the walls for a switch. There was one around the corner, and with it the living room light came back on. She went through the next doorway, flicking on another light, eventually finding her way to the kitchen. There wasn't a mass abundance of food, but Crane had a more comfortable amount of it that Evie had seen in a while. She settled for a muffin from the counter, so she wouldn't have to linger downstairs for him to catch snooping around.

She made her way back to the blue room, turning the lights back off until she found herself in darkness again. Evie found the room and swiftly locked the door behind her (apparently rich parents have a better understanding of privacy?) and went back to the closet, grabbing a pair of jeans, a few shirts, the thickest sweater. She decided she couldn't stay – she would stick around an hour or so more until she felt sure he wouldn't get in her way, but she definitely wouldn't be sleeping here. What had she even been thinking? Spending the night at the Scarecrow's place - she wasn't that naive or desperate. Surely the offer of a heated house and a nice bed shouldn't have allowed the situation to slip past her judgment like that. She shook her head. _Stupid._

Still, it couldn't hurt to lay down for a moment. She set the clothes down on the dresser and fell onto the bed, enjoying how the silky duvet felt against her now-smooth legs. Letting out a deep sigh, she looked out the window and waited for the time to pass.


	2. Chapter 2

**TW for noncon in this chapter**

* * *

She didn't mean to fall asleep.

Evie heard mumbling. She groggily opened her eyes, inwardly cursing herself for drifting off. It was still pitch out though; she couldn't have been asleep for very long, right? She panicked when she realized the light in the room had been turned off, almost bolting upright in the bed, but the mumbling started again. She froze when she realized what it was – Crane's voice. He was in the room with her, standing over the bed, facing her back.

"Why are you here. What are you doing. What are you doing here, Jon?" She heard him murmur; she wondered if he was drunk. He sat at the edge, reaching over to tuck a curl behind her ear. Evie held her breath.

Goosebumps covered her body as his hand traveled along the curve of her side. He continued to hover over the girl for a few minutes, before climbing the rest of the way into bed with her. His body molded against hers like a shell, arms wrapping around her waist, brushing her sides to rest on her belly. He let out a long, pleased sigh as he rested his head against her shoulder, causing the hairs on the nape of her neck to stand on end.

"You don't have to pretend to be asleep, Evie."

"This...moment seems awkward enough." she said starkly.

"You wore a surprising lack of clothes for someone sharing a floor with a strange, known madman."

Embarrassment flooded her.

Crane continued. "Especially one who admitted he would have very much liked to have sex with you."

Evie was thoroughly mortified, but stayed silent, hoping he would leave her alone soon.

But he didn't.

He sighed. His hand drifted down to the waistband of Evie's underwear, causing her to blush. She was sure it was a trick – he wanted a reason to chide her again, but instead he slipped his fingers underneath. Evie gasped as he ran them down her slit.

"You said -" Crane clapped his free hand over her mouth before she could finish.

"This isn't...hurting you." He asserted – a statement that felt directed more toward himself than Evie. He worked his fingers against her. "Oh god, you're getting wet so fast." He groaned, and she whimpered as she felt a finger enter her, then another, his thumb moving in tight circles around her clit. Crane held her so tightly she couldn't move, and then she came, her back arching against him as her lower body became unbearably hot and tingly, the edges of her vision going dark. The feeling soon passed, and she went limp in his arms, gasping, weakly pulling his hand off her face as his grip on her loosened. Evie had never felt so ashamed in all her short life – how could her own body betray her like that?

But Crane wasn't done with her. He rolled Evie onto her back, quickly sliding her soaked underwear down her legs before settling between them, taking her face in his hands and kissing her deeply. He tasted like smoke and she hated it. Evie didn't know what to do – this wasn't supposed to happen to someone like her – and she was terrified. Did Crane have a violent history? Was she going to find out? He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. She wanted to beg him to stop and let her go, and in that moment a million pleas ran through her mind, but the first one to make it out was "I'm scared."

I came out ten more times – a dozen – spilling from her lips like water from a faucet. "I'm scared. I'm scared. I'm so scared."

"Shh..." Crane silenced her with another kiss that was oddly gentle for the situation. "Please don't be scared. I'll take care of you. Please don't be afraid of me."

Oddly enough, he sounded as close to tears as she, confusing Evie for a moment, but the confusion was soon replaced with panic as she felt his cock nosing at her entrance. She dug her heels into the mattress in an attempt to get away. A weak attempt – she hit the headboard in seconds.

"Please, I'm scared." She whimpered; a last-ditch effort to see if he would pity her enough to stop.

He kissed her again, and she felt sick as he started to slip inside her. Crane was surprisingly strong for such an average-looking man. Evie squirmed underneath him, tried to push him away, still desperate for a way out, when his hips suddenly snapped forward. Tears welled up in her eyes, soon spilling onto her cheeks – she couldn't stop them. Oh god. Evie felt every muscle in her body size up – she couldn't believe it. He was inside her. This was happening.

"Take it out." She sobbed. "Please take it out."

For a second, she thought he listened: he slowly began to withdraw from her, only to slowly push back in. He kept up the antagonizing pace while he kissed her neck, ran his hands through her hair, eventually pushing her shirt up so he could fondle and suck her breasts. Evie laid very still as the assault continued, wondering how long this could possibly go on for. She wanted him to finish and get off of her – she just wanted to go home.

Her shaking arms encircled her attacker, pulling him close until his body was flush against hers.

"I'm okay now." She lied.

It worked. Crane enthusiastically quickened his pace, the thrusts becoming more erratic – some shallow, other so hard and deep she had to bite her tongue from crying out. He wrapped an arm under her hips, pulling her even closer, going even deeper. Breathing heavily into her neck, he moved forcefully for a few minutes, the wrought-iron frame of the bed violently smacking against the wall, before his pace suddenly slowed down and he stopped, panting and sweaty on top of her. Cold horror washed over Evie when she realized he had actually come inside of her.

She waited for him to get off if her, then quickly rolled out of bed, his cum streaking down her thighs as she staggered to the bathroom. She didn't bother to lock the door behind her, what did it matter? It didn't stop him before. Turning the water on as hot as she could stand, Evie stepped into the shower, gabbing a bristle brush and scrubbing herself raw, using the entire bottle of body wash hoping to get the smell of him off of her. The shower nozzle was detachable, she noticed – she put it between her legs, letting the water jet inside of her, hoping to flush out any trace of where he had been. Fuck – he actually came in her. Every pharmacy in the whole damn city had been picked clean within days of the city being shut down. It would be ten days of incessant worrying now, praying for her monthly subscription to the massacre in her pants to arrive on time. What if it didn't? She would have to run away to the country or something; she would rather die than tell her parents what happened to her.

Evie sank into the floor for the last few minutes, willing herself to cry – she didn't want to break down in front her family, have them know what happened to her – it was definitely better for them not to know. It would just upset everyone, and they would start treating her differently out of pity. There was nothing to be done about it anyway: Just basing on what she knew of him, his obvious ties to the people running things now, attacking him would be too dangerous to risk.

The tears wouldn't come, leaving Evie with not choice but to turn the water off and get out.

She clutched the towel to her as she re-entered the bedroom. He was gone, but his absence proved to be equally as terrifying than if he had still been in the bed. Not wanting to waste time, Evie went to vanity where she set the clothes she took from the closet earlier. She hurriedly dressed and then sat down to lace up her boots.

The house was eerily silent. Evie's ears kept pricking up, trying to detect any sound, any indication of where Crane was, but got nothing. Outside was overcast, but the sky clearly looked lighter – technically safe to go home. Safe as one could be in Gotham in these times, anyway. As quietly as she could manage, she sneaked her way down the stairs and to the doorway. His suit jacket and coat were gone. Perhaps he had left. She pulled one arm through her own coat and reached for the handle. Locked. She undid the deadbolt but it still refused to open. Tried the windows, but they didn't budge. Evie remembered doors in the kitchen. One of them would lead her outside. _I should steal some food from this douchebag anyway_, thought Evie. She finished buttoning her coat and walked to the next room, lined her pockets with muffins, then opened her bag to stuff some cans and cereal inside. Satisfied, she walked out of the pantry and tried the back door. Locked – seemingly from the outside – as well. Evie frowned. He wanted to play games? She could play.

Stalking back to the living room, she headed strait to the fireplace, grabbing a poker. The window by the door was just big enough for her to squeeze trough. Taking a batters stance, Evie prepared to break it open.

"I wouldn't."

Surprised, Evie dropped the poker, causing bit to clatter rather loudly on the tile. She whirled around to face Crane. He was dressed for the day, in his same haggard suit, still unshaven and hair slightly mussed.

"Am I free to leave or what?" She asked impatiently.

"Of course." He stepped past her. "But first, walk with me a minute." He stood in front of the door, making sure Evie couldn't see what exactly he did to open it.

Placing her thumbs under the straps of her now-heavy backpack, she hoisted it up to a more comfortable position as she walked outside into the morning drizzle. She quickly contemplated running, but running in wet snow was an ill-advised venture. She had no idea how fast he was on foot, and was still fearful of provoking a more volatile side of him. Evie stared at the sidewalk as she waited for Crane to join her, walking a step behind as he led the way to...wherever it was they were going.

"So, I'm assuming your family hasn't had the best luck in finding food, judging by how much you stole from my pantry."

"Lots of people haven't had good access to food." She replied dryly. "The rations that are brought in aren't enough to feed everyone."

"Of course. The government doesn't want to waste too much money." He looked over his shoulder at her. "What if I could help with that?"

"I'd say 'you can't get something for nothing'."Evie snorted. "So, what would this help with food be in exchange for?"

"You." He said simply.

She was a little taken aback – and rather disgusted – by the answer. "Um, sorry, but my family would rather have me home and starve." What a fucking pervert Scarecrow had turned out to be. What was he, forty now? Gross.

Even though she couldn't see his face, she could tell Crane was smiling.

"That's too bad – because the other option I'll offer is to let them continue to think you're dead, with the added unpleasantness of starving."

Evie stopped. "Threaten me as much as you want – I'm not staying with you. Why would I after what you did to me?"

He stopped as well, turning toward her and smiling. "There's no need to act like you didn't enjoy yourself."

Evie saw red. "I didn't." She said through clenched teeth. "Who would have?"

Crane's expression clouded. "You're lying."

"Why would I lie to you?"

She flinched as Crane approached her. He wasn't the most physically intimidating person, but given Evie's small frame and stature, he positively towered over her.

"You're a liar." He whispered. "I heard you – I felt you – you wanted me."

"I did what I had to to get you off of me." Evie hissed.

Crane glared at her, taking a deep breath to attempt to compose himself. "Maybe you should come with me today. See what influence I have. Or perhaps," he stroked her cheek, "I can show you what I used to do to people. I'm sure you know all about that from somewhere. A documentary, or some adorable..._high school _psych class," he spat out the words "high school" almost accusingly, like she had wronged him somehow for not being older, "I would rather not, of course. Not to you." His thumb brushed across her lower lip.

His touch made her skin crawl, and the way he always spoke so softly, no matter how angry he seemed, was absolutely unnerving.

"You don't think I can get away from you?" she challenged.

"I would find you if you did."

"How, exactly?" Evie snorted. "You don't know a thing about me – my family, my school, where I live – I didn't even tell you my last name."

"An hours worth of obstacles at best. You could take off running down the street right now, I won't stop you. I would even wait two, three hours before sending anyone after you – not that it would matter. You would be back on my doorstep before lunch. That is how embarrassingly easy it would be to find you, Evie."

Crane turned back around, continuing their walk. Evie quickly contemplated his words. She was sure he was bluffing...but really only about how long he would wait to send someone for her. What if someone followed her home? He could definitely use her family as leverage then. How long could she bum around the city for until she could be sure she wasn't being followed? Realizing her stark lack of options, Evie reluctantly followed.


	3. Chapter 3-4

**Currently doing a lot of editing to this story before I put the final chapter up, and decided to merge chaps 3 and 4. Didn't want to confuse followers by updating with another Chapter 16.**

**~ Lilli S.**

**TW mentions of violence**

* * *

The Courthouse was far worse than the rumors implied. One within the doors, it was a strange, almost post-apocalyptic scene: there were guns everywhere, fights everywhere, blood and fire everywhere…On the lower level, the "accused" - a rag-tag assembly of Gotham's elite and rebels viewed as having some levels of importance, all set up for slaughter to send Bane's message – stood in makeshift pens of barbed wire, surrounded by overly-muscled men who held rifles better suited for extreme warfare. Crane walked up to one of these men, saying something that Evie could not hear over the noise. The guard nodded, leaving his post to stand next to her.

Then there was the grand Courtroom – except it wasn't really a courtroom, but the main lobby, but it suited the purpose just fine. The focal point of the room was obviously the mountain of desks on the far side of the room, papers littered on the floor in front of it. Evie noticed several blood splatters on the tile, many in various stages of drying, as the guard led her to join the sizable crowd of people already assembled, who cheered as Crane entered.

She spent her morning flagged by the silent WWE reject, watching – horrified – as people lost their lives, dozens more waiting below for the same bleak fate. Some were "exiled" to the river, some taken just outside the building for execution, a random few shot directly in the courtroom, their corpses promptly dragged into the courtyard where they were thrown into The Pit.

Crane looked entirely nonplussed by the violence and gore, hardly blinking an eye at it all. He rather seemed to enjoy his role in the chaos, having power over who died. Evie felt sick to her stomach at the thought of staying with such a man, and sicker still wondering what he could (and likely would) do if he got near her family. She had desperately hoped that his threats were baseless, and that by days end she would could just go home like nothing had happened. It became clearer with every "ruling" that this was no longer a likely option.

A few hours passed, and Crane collected her from the guard.

"Have you been enjoying the show?" He asked.

"How can you...?" Evie's voice sounded embarrassingly small, and she didn't find the words to finish the statement, but he knew all too well what she was thinking of him, of this.

"That is entirely the wrong way of looking at this, Evie." Crane replied. "You think this is cruel, yes? You think these killings are senseless, don't you? That we're doing it for fun? Stirring the pot of anarchy?"

Evie remained silent, wondering where this was all going.

"That is so...beautifully naïve of you, and the thousands of other blindly idealistic folk like you in this town – but I think you should take a closer look – the bigger picture, Evie. See the files on these atrocious fat cats that sit in that chair. They own companies that push the sick from their hospital beds to save a few bucks, kick whole families out onto the street by the dozen, lure the less fortunate into sighing loan contracts that are almost no more ethical than share-cropping.

No doubt you were told that the downfall of Gotham was the result of organized crime, mob bosses and their thugs, a few dirty cops – it wasn't. They all played a part, to be sure, but the real perpetrators, Evie, the ones who plunged this city into the cesspool of crime and poverty you have always known...you can find in the pit, or sinking to the bottom of the river."

His eyes burned strait through her as he spoke, causing her heart to race, then he paused to grab her arm, leading her up the stairs and through a hall.

"I am not bothered by what I do here, not a bit." he continued. "These people didn't feel an ounce of shame or pity in them as they made their millions off the destitute – but these are all things we can talk more about later." he turned around. "Do you still need more time to reflect on my offers?"

He had given her a lot to take in in those few minutes, and Evie felt completely overwhelmed by it. She shook her head. "Can I say goodbye?" She asked timidly.

Crane smoothly masked his smugness, instead looking almost piteously at her. A goodbye to her family...something that would certainly be very emotional, not to mention very revealing about her family dynamic. That could be very useful. He paused for a moment. "You can make a video for them."

"What should I say?" She whispered to herself.

"Whatever you feel is best, I suppose." He gestured the guard back to them. "Take her to my chambers. Wait outside the door."

Evie walked with him, now numb to the disorder of the courthouse. The man roughly grabbed her arm, pushing her into a room and slamming the door behind her. Like much of the city, the room looked a little worse-for-wear, but still contained furniture – even a desk. Probably the only desk in the building that hadn't been used to construct Crane's unusual perch in the Courtroom. She curled herself up on the small sofa on the back of the room, thinking about what she could say to her parents that wouldn't completely devastate them. How she could possibly make them believe she was safe enough to where they wouldn't put themselves in danger for her? There wasn't one really, to be honest. They wouldn't listen. Perhaps they would be better off thinking she was just dead somewhere in the streets.

Perhaps it only been a few minutes, but Evie laid there for what felt like hourse before hearing a knock on the door, Crane quickly stepping through afterwards, carrying a folder, a camcorder, and an apple. He sat the latter two on the table next to her, procuring another apple out of his pocket before taking a seat behind the desk. He took a bite of the fruit, the sound almost ear-splitting in the silence between them, and, smiling directly at her, opened the folder.

"Evelyn Michelle Addams..."

Evie bolted upright at the sound of her name. Her real, full name.

Crane smirked. "I had to do something, Miss Addams, to show you that I wasn't just all talk when I said I could find anything I needed. And you were not at all hard to find, mind you." He pushed his glasses up. "Born February 13th...well, that is a pretty upsetting age gap, isn't it? Parents Richard and Emma, little sister Allison...I see you live right off the expressway – lived, I should say – and went to Eastside High School. Not exactly a top scholar..." He continued, Evie still in shock. "Really good in math though. You were in orchestra? What an interesting combination of interests – I can't wait to hear you play..." Crane flipped the folder shut, getting up from chair and walking over to Evie. He knelt down in front of her, until they were at eye-level. "I think, we've come to a little understanding of one another today, haven't we?" He reached over to pull the side table next to him, picking up the camcorder and opening it up.

"Do you know what to say?"

"Yes." She answered uncertainly.

Crane smirked, turning the camera on and settling it back on the table. Evie took a deep breath.

"Hi mom, dad. I'm alive – yay." She began nervously. There was really no easy way to tell uour family goodbye forever, and so she decided to get right to the point. "I'm really sorry to do this to you, but this video is goodbye.

Please don't try to find me – don't ask around to see where I'm at, or anything. Just know that I'm ok – I'll be fine – and I've also found someone who can help you out as well, for as long as this whole thing goes on. I love you."

Evie paused, her eyes flicking over to Crane before looking back at the camera. "I don't know if Allie is watching this too, but if she isn't, could you bring her?"

"Hey Al," she gave a watery smile, "looks like it's just you now. I know, things have been hard – and I was hard on you. I said things I didn't mean. I really didn't mean them, Al, I couldn't. You're scared, I know it – it's okay though. You'll be okay. I'm proud of you, Allie Cat, and I love you...so much." Evie quickly used her sleeve to wipe her eyes before the tears could hit her face. "Be safe. Goodby."

Crane turned the camera off, watching her intently as the flood of emotion she had tried to urge on that morning started coming out. He joined her on the sofa, taking her in his arms. She instinctively pushed him away, only for him to pull her in, until her head rested on his chest.

He took a deep breath and smiled, calmly stroking her hair. That was everything he had hoped it would be and more – every bit as telling as he expected. So emotional, so entertaining. This was going to be fun.

* * *

Crane was back in his chair, feet propped up on the desk as he went through piles, sorting them into neat little stacks. "Life and "Death" stacks, probably. Evie had finished her crying fit, a little annoyed at herself for letting him see her so weak – this wasn't the way she wanted to start off this deal. That slip-up would put him at an even bigger advantage over her right off the bat and she knew it. For the moment, she just laid there, sulking on the couch.

"How did you find me?" she asked quietly.

Sighing, Crane removed his glasses, then folded his hands in his lap."Internet. School records, initially. You said you had been about to start 11th, so you were already registered. I took a gamble and guessed that you either lived in the area we met, or you at least lived nearby – that narrowed it down to just a handful of schools. I only had to hack into two, though.

Then came your name. When you told it to me, you stopped fidgeting – just for second – which told me that it was real, but you still...hesitated. Not really out of fear, but more of...uncertainty; like you didn't know which name to use. I bet people give you pet names like Eve or Eva, family members who call you Lynnie – either way I figured it was a nickname. Evelyn was my second guess for your name, and once I found you it was a few more clicks to get everything else. Your hospital records, your social security number, your Harry Potter blog..."

He shot her his sly smile as she glared at him from across the room. "You really thought you didn't give me anything to go off of, didn't you?"

Evie grit her teeth. "You know, I really can't wait to die now."

Crane went back to his papers. "I wouldn't get your hopes up just yet."

She sighed with the righteous passive-aggression of Liz Lemon. "Why?" There was really no point in avoiding it. He would ramble on without any encouragement anyway – obviously he liked hearing himself talk too much.

"I can leave at any time I want, really – they don't expect me to stick around for the finale to their little revenge mission. I've done my part for them."

She ignored that bit of bait. "Good for you, but seriously, just leave me here to die."

"Where's the fun in that?" Crane rose from his seat and picked up his jacket. "I really wouldn't think to hard about your predicament, Evie – it's, well, just a lost cause. I am miles ahead of you right now; your family is being watched, and no one around here is going to cross me. Even if it wasn't me they were dealing with, in times like these, no one is about to risk their skin for some nobody girl. You don't have the connections, or useful skills to get out..." he walked over to her, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her up. "I would just make your peace with this."

Trailing behind him, Evie grew depressed thinking back at his words. No escape, no way to really alert her family, stuck with a man who had proven himself to be not quite so full of shit as she had originally been counting on. What a mess. A mess that started because she had been too stupid and scared to walk away when she had a chance.

There was always a way out though, wasn't there?


	4. Chapter 5

**TW for dubcon**

* * *

Evie was resolved not to show Crane any more weakness, doing her best to channel every bit of snark and rage she had in her to let him know that she would not go down easy.

She ignored the potential ramifications, unafraid to slap his hand off her when it was unwanted (and his touch was always unwanted), she threw things and hurled insults, wanting to act out in any way she could, testing the boundaries of what she could get away with. One day Crane offhandedly mentioned how much he liked her long hair, calling her "Goldilocks". That definitely struck a chord – only her father had ever called her that. She did not want Crane to act so familiar with her, nor did she want to posses any sort of traits he found attractive, so she went to the bathroom and cut off her curls all the way up to her chin. The reaction wasn't one she had hoped for. "It's your hair." he said simply, looking terribly amused by the result of her rash actions. "You're still very pretty with less of it." He had, however, decided after that little stunt, it would be in their best interest to round up the remainder of sharp object in the house. Evie wasn't the brightest opponent, to be sure, but the morning she attempted to escape from him she had demonstrated a decent level of resourcefulness, an added willingness to go to extremes. With the right amount of pressure, attempted to kill him or perhaps even herself didn't seem entirely out of the realm of possibility.

Overall, Crane didn't actually mind her difficult behavior. He had hoped his fun little project would fight, and the one she was putting up was all too amusing. Her anger was similar to the way a cornered animal will lash out, even up against the most dangerous opponent; a bird flailing around in its cage. That's all Evie was anyway. Certainly not very intellectually stimulating, but still good enough entertainment for him to want to keep her around. That wasn't to say she didn't find ways to test his patience, almost to the point where he felt all to tempted to turn to other methods to punish her. He could have broken her easily, at any given moment in time – lock her in the basement for a day or so, a whole host of torture methods, or even the simple subtlety of more threats against her family would have been quickly successful work – but these were things any common man was capable of. There was no need to employ a common man's scare tactics when Crane could clearly see past Evie's tough girl facade. At the core, she was weak. Besides, he didn't need hard torture when all he had to do was touch her. That was all – a hand on her thigh, or the brush of his lips against her neck was all it took for her walls to come crumbling down to reveal the scared little girl he knew she was.

That, however, was the thing about her which still bothered Crane most – her age. Some days he felt positively filthy and disgusted with himself to be reminded that she was a _teenager_. Still just a child in so many ways, but it was difficult to maintain those feelings of revulsion while her body felt so warm and soft against his, so weak and pliable and responsive. Crane was a man who had very seldom longed for companionship in his life – his work was far more compelling and important to him – but he couldn't deny that he thoroughly enjoyed Evie's presence, even beside the physical comforts her body provided. She was so sprightly and full of anger; she was going to be so fun to break.

He continued to bring her to court with him, even though he was fairly positive that she would not try to leave if he left her home. He like the way it put fear into her, seeing him in such a position of power. It required literally no effort to do so on his part – it was just his job after all, a satisfying duty that had been graciously extended to him for past services. Unsurprisingly, she soon began identifying more and more with the process. Typical reaction formation. Crane toyed with her in different, more subtle ways as well, slowly gauging her reactions, waiting for a slip up. Evie's mind was every but as malleable as her body, even if she didn't want to admit it, and he took great pleasure in watching her grow listless as the days passed, as the weight of the loss of her family and her uncertain future had finally began to settle in.

But Evie still soldiered on, trying her hardest to keep up her anger and defiance, but it became more draining than it had been in the beginning. She was fading fast, now – like a candle sputtering at the end of its wick. It had only been a couple weeks, but she was so very full of fear and doubt, unraveling between the sleepless nights and blood-soaked days Crane forced her to endure. He was always watching, always listening, always aware.

It was all in good fun.

The only solace Crane really allowed her was a few hours of alone time in his chambers after lunch. It was enjoyable, at first, to be away from him, but now it was just...unnerving.

That day, she was sitting on the edge of his desk, toying with the pages of yet another book she couldn't seem to gather up the attention to focus on. Instead, each time she looked at the page, the words appeared strange and jumbled, almost as if they were written in some other language. Evie sighed – it was probably just some sort of effect from the lack of sleep she had been put through, but it was such an inconvenience. Books had always been such a welcome relief from life, and she felt really let down by suddenly not being able to experience that joy when she so desperately needed it.

When Crane finally joined her at the end of the day, for a moment or two he simply stood in the doorway, observing her. She wearily returned his impolite stare. Initially, he hadn't given much thought to the way she looked – she was very pretty, beautiful even, in a traditional sense – but somehow, in sadness, she was really just stunning. The door clicked behind him, and he strode across the room to her, putting a hand on her cheek in was might have been construed as a comforting gesture. Might have, if he were someone else. Just about anyone else, honestly. A few days before, Evie's initial instinct would have been to yank it away, glaring up at him with the fire burning bright behind her amber eyes, but today she felt so run down; too weak in the moment to even show a vague hint of the force she desired to demonstrate, so instead when she reached up her hand to pull his away, it merely rested on top of his. She just wanted a break. Crane tilted her head up and kissed her. She was as unresponsive as always, but she wasn't fighting either. His hands traveled up her sides, resting on her waist for a brief moment before wrapping them around her, his stubble scratched her skin as he kissed her neck.

He had touched her plenty since she had been under his roof, but he hadn't done _that_ to her since the first night. She had known its recurrence was an inevitability since the second their deal was struck – a ticking time bomb ominously counting down in her mind – she thought she had more of that time left; it couldn't possibly have run out on her already.

"Not here please." God, she hated how her voice sounded.

He gently pressed his lips against her temple. "Why?" Evie's hair bristled at the feeling of his warm breath in her ear, his fingertips grazing the sliver of skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her jeans.

"There are people...right outside the door..." Evie stuttered. When did she become so pathetic?

"They don't dare to bother me." Crane growled, his hand moving further down her stomach to disappear inside her pants, slipping between her thighs. She bit her lip and he roughly shoved a finger inside of her, his other hand coming up to grip the hair at the base of her skull as he kissed her again.

"Are you going to try playing games with me this time, Evie?

Evie shook her head, he eyes screwed shut and she tried to ignore the feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of her.

"Look at me." He hissed.

Slowly, she did. She hated those pale eyes so much, hated the way they had been following her everywhere, invading even her thoughts. She especially hated the way they looked now – full of lust of hunger and that unbearable smugness that shone through when he had beaten her in some way.

"Are you going to lie to me?"

"No." she answered between clenched teeth.

"Good." Crane removed the hand from her pants, and Evie blushed hard at the way her body practically ached in protest. He knelt down, unlacing and removing each of her boots. When he stood back up, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her jeans, yanking them off along with her underwear, in one swift movement. Evie pulled her sweater over her head herself, feeling cold and embarrassed and most of all ashamed to be doing this with him. She pushed his ragged jacket off her shoulders when he moved back in front of her, nudging her legs apart. He kissed her again, and this time she played along and kissed him back (cooperation wasn't the same as lying, was it?), as his hands ghosted up her thighs and hips before reaching down to undo his pants and pull out his cock.

She pulled away, burying her face in the crook of his neck as he took his member in his hand, dragging the head up and down her entrance. _Don't cry_, she reminded herself. _Don't cry, don't cry – you can't cry._ Evie peeked down in morbid fascination as he slowly sank himself inside of her, clutching onto his shirt. Crane gripped the corners of the desk for leverage as he started to move. Fuck, her body felt so incredible – it had been well worth the wait for her to show this minute of complete weakness.

"Lay down." he panted, and Evie quickly complied. Crane looped his arms around her knees, pulling her slightly off the table before leaning forward, the tops of her thighs resting on her stomach. It went deep in this position, and while she tried to outride the pain by gritting her teeth and digging her nails into her palm, embarrassing gasps and whimpers still managed to make their way out of her mouth. Crane's glasses began to slip down the bridge of his nose as he pumped hard and fast, causing her breath to hitch in her throat. After he came, he rested his head on her chest for a few moments, listening to her frantic heartbeat. Like a frightened rabbit. Evie bit her lip, trying her hardest not to panic at the sensation of his pulsating cock still inside her, while some of his cum leaked out, pooling onto the floor below.

"Let's go home." He said, pushing himself upright to straiten out his appearance; hitching up his pants and running a hand through his hair to smooth it out.

Evie propped herself up on her elbows and winced. Her body and bones ached from being taken on the hard surface of the desk, and she felt utterly disgusting. Even more than that – she was upset with her herself. What had happened to her? Where did her anger and fight go? She was better than this.

Crane glanced over at her as he shrugged on his jacket. She looked deep in thought, and very annoyed. "Come on – get dressed."

She nodded, not bothering to look his way as she hoisted herself off the desk and slowly put each article of clothing back on, thinking off all the ways she could have fought against what had just happened. Even if she couldn't necessarily stop it, she shouldn't have made it so easy for him.

Evie didn't have to look at Crane to know he was smiling, once again so pleased with himself. What had even been the point of trying so hard to prover her resilience if she was just going to give into him like that? Shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her parka, she stiffly walked past Crane and out the door. He paused for a moment before following her to light a cigarette, grinning widely as he blew out the smoke from the first drag.


	5. Chapter 6

He wouldn't stop touching her, holding her. Most nights now they even shared a bed, and she was ashamed to admit that she had started sleeping better with him beside her. He would brush the curls away from her face as she lay there half-awake.

"Am I still such a monster to you?" Crane would whisper, pressing a kiss to on the nape of her neck.

She had to admit, that was a line between them she had trouble seeing anymore, where the man ended and the monster began. Evie felt herself quickly losing the fight, points stacking up against her every time he brushed his fingers over her arm, pressed her to his chest. Crane paid careful attention in watching her unfold, enjoying how she steadily began to react less and less volatile toward him. First would come compliance, soon this would be her natural state, little by little, until she believed these to be her real feelings and actions.

"Don't we have a nice home here?" he would whisper, his hands running up her legs, stopping at her knees so her could pull them apart and settle between them. She wouldn't even flinch at the hardness against her thigh.

"Aren't I good to you?" Her arms would circle around his neck as he looked down at her through half-lidded eyes, inching his way inside. Stubble scratched at her skin as he gradually thrust harder and harder.

"Don't I take care of you?" The pace would slow down as he slipped a hand down her belly, to the place just above where their bodies met. teasing the tender flesh there. She would involuntarily buck into his hand, grinding against his cock, Crane sighing in pleasure at her reaction, giving her a satisfied smile that should have made her feel sick to her stomach. Evie moved with him, feeling the heat build up deep inside her.

"Don't I?"

"Yes." She whispered back, almost serenely as stars burst behind her eyelids. He joined her over the edge, and together they landed back into a world she felt she didn't understand anymore.

Some nights it really didn't seem all that bad.

But there were other nights where she felt beyond any sort of comfort, and on those nights, she wandered the house in an almost trance-like state, glassy-eyed and lethargic.

Crane had never explicitly told her that the basement was off-limits, but it had never really crossed her mind before to go down there anyway. No one really goes to the basement unless they have to, plus she had been taught through various horror films that psychopathic men usually kept something incriminating or disgusting (usually both) in basements anyway – but as the only room in the house she hadn't had the chance to explore to death, Evie felt that it seemed was as good a time as any.

She flicked on the light. It smelled musty, but not necessarily bad. Chances of her finding rotting corpses shrank down a bit. Comforting.

Surprisingly, it wasn't very crowded with junk, as most basements are apt to be. There was the furnace, a neat corner of Christmas decorations, an equally tidy (much smaller) corner of camping gear, a large tool container...in fact, most of the boxes taking up space looked newer, like they had been placed down there somewhat recently, judging by the thin layer of dust covering their surfaces. They didn't have a place, though, in the way the decorations and the camping gear did; instead they were strewn about the floor in no particular order, as if they had just been tossed down in a hurry and then left. On the far side of the room, was something she recognized – a piano. She weaved her way through the haphazardly-spaced parcels to it, excitedly, but carefully pressing down on each of the keys. Like most of the boxes, it appeared that the basement was a more recent home for the instrument; this became clear by the fact that it still sounded very much in-tune. Evie pulled the stool out from under it and sat down.

Her mother had her take piano lessons for several years as a girl, but even though she was very good at it, she had never really liked it. Piano sounded nice, but it all felt very rigid to her – violin gave off such a nicer feeling when she played. Regardless, she easily slipped back into her old form, to familiar scales. That had been the first time she had thought even briefly about her mother in the last few weeks. She hadn't really thought of anyone from her life. Initially, she had been worried about her sister the most, but soon found it was easier to block everyone she had known from her mind. Suddenly she felt very guilty about how hard she was trying to forget them, and her mind began to wander to things she missed about her family – her mom's intensely competitive attitude toward board games and the outings her dad would randomly take her on when she was supposed to be in school, the secrets swapped with her sister under blanket forts constructed in their shared room – after a bit of this, she realized that last year had been the first Christmas she and her family hadn't gone to see The Nutcracker. That, she decided, would be a tradition she missed the most. It was always a special night in her family: they would all wear posh new outfits and go to a nice dinner, and afterward go home to open a Christmas present early.

Surely she wouldn't have the chance to develop new traditions in her life – with Crane, or anyone else really – there was no way he planned on keeping her for as long as he alluded to. She grew somber at the realization, then started to play Pas de Deux, but obviously it wasn't...the same.

After a few bars, she felt a little annoyed, thinking what a better release it would have been to play it on her violin, where she could really put herself into it. The notes sounded hollow coming from the piano. She played louder, more frantically, until she felt a hand on her shoulder and jumped in her seat.

"I didn't know you played." Crane said softly.

Evie let out a small, relieved sigh. He didn't seem angry. "I thought you knew everything about me."

He sat down next to her, his face holding very little expression for her to read. "Only a few things in some documents – definitely not everything."

"Aren't you going to get bored of me and off me anyway?"

"Don't say that." he scooted closer to her. "I like having a companion like you. Never really had one before."

"Well. didn't you ever have a girlfriend or wife at some point?"

He shook his head. "Not really, no. Relationships like that take time I didn't have, money I didn't want to spend, and emotional involvement of which I have none to offer..."

Evie glanced up at him, but said nothing.

"You're just what I need, Evie." He smiled, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek and turn to face him. "You're sweet, and beautiful...you're good to have." _And so easy to manipulate_, he thought to himself.

The compliment sent a surge of warmth through her; she wasn't used to hearing such nice things about her from him, unaware that it was a carefully applied tactic. He released her face and looked back down at the piano.

"If I had known you played, I would have had this dragged upstairs."

"So it was already down here?" she asked.

"Oh, yes." he nodded. "Pretty sure the wife in this house played. I think she died, or maybe left – all these boxes over the floor are full of her things, all the pictures in the house."

Evie had actually noticed the lack of pictures in a place that so obviously housed a family, but had always just assumed that Crane got rid of them when he took up residence.

"That might explain why they were gone, haven't come back." he continued.

It sort of made sense.

"What were you playing by the way?" he suddenly asked. "It sounded familiar."

"Something from The Nutcracker." she answered simply.

"Ah, Tchaikovsky. Christmas ballet, right? " Crane paused for a moment. "It it supposed to be played...like that?"

"I got sort of distracted, actually. Started thinking about things I shouldn't have."

His expression darkened, ever so slightly, but still enough to set her heart racing. "What sort of things might those be, Evie?"

"Traditions." she admitted – there was no point in hiding it anyway. "I thought about the things I used to do with my family...things I guess I always figured I would do with a family of my own, but I guess I won't get to, now."

"Why not?"

She looked up at him. "I don't really believe that you'll keep me around. I feel like I'm barely making it to tomorrow. Doesn't exactly leave me with the confidence to go on imagining my future or anything." Before she would have said with some level of attitude, but instead her voice sounded hollow and monotonous. It bothered him.

Evie watched as Crane clenched his jaw – an action that had become something of a tell for when he became annoyed or angry – which filled her with a mild sense of panic, her mind racing to think of possible wrongdoing she might have just committed.

But he swiftly spoke up. "What if we went away from here?"

"It wouldn't really matter." she shook her head.

Crane frowned. This was not the type of broken she was supposed to be. She was becoming too...empty. "You could still have a full life." he argued. "You could wind up having a houseful of children to start traditions with if you wanted."

"I don't want them anymore." she whispered through gritted teeth. "I can't."

This wasn't right – she had previously seemed to be past this sort of thinking. He wondered if he had somehow managed to over-estimate her mental capacities, but he was certain he wasn't capable of that sort of flaw. Something had to have triggered her emotional regression, he decided – the piano, perhaps?

After a lengthy silence, Crane reverted the subject. "How long have you played?"

"Hm?" she appeared to snap out of some sort of trance. "Oh, I played for about ten years – I quit, though, to join the string orchestra when I got in high school."

"You sound lovely for having been out of practice for so long."

"You never really forget." she toyed with the keys a little, starting the song over after a few moments of silence. Crane looked on, wondering what could be done to flip on this strange emotional turn she had taken. He thought it would be more rewarding to see her so despondent and hopeless, but after witnessing her being just that, he suddenly decided he didn't like her gloomy. Her withdrawn phase had been all very well in those first few days she had spent with him, but he liked her fighting better – the obedience was nice, sure - it was more fun before, though, more interesting. How to get that fight back? Not just that, but perhaps to turn it into a more...manageable fight, just a hint of her spark back. More playful than angry.

Maybe...maybe she just needed to find him more likable, relatable. Evie hadn't exactly made that an easy task before – but now, as it seemed, her walls were down. At least for the moment.

"Is this a favorite of yours?" he asked.

It was. "This ballet just sort of popped into my mind. I used to see it every Christmas."

"With your family, I'm guessing." Crane watched her carefully.

"Mhmm." she concentrated very hard on the music, hoping it would keep her from looking too guilty.

"We could see it next year, if you'd like."

Unable to hide her surprise from his offer, she noticeably faltered, quickly attempting to play it off. "Ok."

That was enough for the night, he decided. Gently, he grabbed her wrists, moving her hands away from the piano. "Let's go to bed."


	6. Chapter 7

**TW for dubcon**

* * *

It was 9:37.

Well that couldn't be right. Evie stared blankly at the clock for a moment or two. Crane rose at six sharp every morning – which had actually around the time Evie would get up for school, but with no school there hadn't been a reason for her to wake so god-forsaken early in months. He incorporated her back into that early-riser routine though, since the first day she stayed with him. Groggy and confused from over-sleeping, she slowly pushed herself off the bed and wandered into the hallway.

He wasn't in any of the other rooms on that floor. Evie paused at the top of the stairs, cautiously calling out his name. "Crane?"

"It's Jonathan." Came the simple reply. He had been trying to get her to use his first name for days now, but it never quite stuck. Evie might have become a little less skittish around him, but she was still no where near trusting enough of him to accept any friendlier terms he attempted to offer.

She followed his voice downstairs to the living room, finding him sitting on of the squishy leather sofa and reading. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"Lazy Sundays can still exist – even in a revolution." Crane set his book down on the coffee table. He was dressed oddly causal, Evie noticed; he was always either in his suit for the day, or just boxers at night – never anything in-between – so it was almost jarring to see him dressed-down in pajama pants and a t-shirt. So strange.

"Well...alright them. I'm going to grab something to eat." This situation felt so off to her. True, Crane had never been particularly cruel to her (aside from the first night, of course), but then again he had never bothered to be truly nice either. Evie quickly chided herself for being so suspicious of his behavior – after all, she needed to learn to take this sort of kindness and normalcy when she could get it. Still, between that weirdness the night before and, well, now, she just couldn't help but feel like he was playing at something. Possibly for some sinister reason. Crane had never played nice with her before without their being some sort of benefit or advantage to him. It reminded Evie of how her mother would always act extra sweet to their cat Marty – right before stuffing him into a carrier and then off to the vet. She wanted to like Crane's added attentiveness and niceties, but they simply didn't sit right with her.

Crane followed her into the kitchen after a few minutes, taking a seat at the table. He worried that perhaps this was too extreme a change for her, judging by the confused glances she kept casting him as he made her simple peanut-butter toast breakfast. She leaned against the counter instead of joining him.

"So.." she ventured, "you took the day off? What are we doing today, then?"

He shrugged. "Read, watch movies – whatever you like, it doesn't matter."

The crunch of the toast was almost deafening.

"Do you like it here?" Crane suddenly asked.

Evie swallowed, unsure of how to answer. Honestly, she didn't know how exactly she felt about being here anymore. On one hand, she felt somewhat grateful that she was being kept so safe, with her family being tended to as well – Evie knew she could have easily been killed by now, or taken by much physically crueler men – but she still loathed the underlying situation with Crane: the things he did to her, the way he constantly made her doubt herself, and especially how good he had started making her feel in bed.

"I suppose." She answered meekly. An answer she figured was much too vague to anger him.

Crane stared at her very hard. "How would you feel about a change of scenery?"

"What, you mean like across town?"

He shook his head. "More like...out of the city entirely."

Evie let out a dry laugh. "How would we leave? I mean, you can't be serious."

"People escape the city every day, Evie."

That was news. "Okay...How far do they actually make it, though?"

"Out. Completely out." He sighed. "People can and still do leave Gotham – Bane even knows about it. He allows the few that escape to leave, as long as they aren't too blatant about it, of course, because they still serve the purpose of spreading his message."

But Evie was still skeptical. "If you want to go somewhere, I'll go with you." She finished off her breakfast, brushing the crumbs into the sink. "I'm going to take a shower." Crane stared impassively after her as she left the kitchen.

In the past weeks, Evie had bounced back and forth between feeling nearly at peace with her situation, while other days went by in stark, cold indifference. Others still – though fewer by far – spent in rage or at the very least extreme passive aggression. Today was quite something else, though, not colored by any feeling in particular, just….vague unfamiliarity. A thick fog, rendering her completely unaware of her surroundings, unknown to her when it would dissipate and allow her to see where she was going, or even just to know how to feel about it. The fog permeated every corner of her mind, swirling around in a haze of uncertainty.

The bathroom door clicked behind her. She stared at herself in the mirror for a while. Somehow, in spite of the fact that she had been eating much better since being with Crane, she looked thinner – her sweats hanging lower on her hips than they had before, her face was a little less full, less childlike. She looked very...weary, and sad – an upsetting combination. Evie turned on the shower and slowly undressed, kicking the clothes to the corner by the door. Weeks after the fact, she still found herself surprised by the lack on hair brushing against her back, as she had been accustomed to feeling for so many years. Evie missed it sometimes. It seemed like such a silly thing to say about hair, but hers had held so many fond memories. Her mother used to sit with her on the couch and brush it for ages to calm her down, Allie was always finding new ways to do it up in some outrageous way, and the way her father called her Goldilocks. Evie loved and remembered all these things with a fond sadness, as she fingered through the knots of her much-shorter curls before before stepping into the tub.

The water was at just the level of warm. It should have been relaxing, but that ball of uncertainty in the pit of her stomach refused to subside. She tried to make the connection, find some reason for why Crane would flip his cruel demeanor on her so suddenly. As her mind wandered, she began to speculate whether this was the real Crane, with the detached, odd man previously known to her simply a show; a mask. Her thoughts drifted, perhaps, a little further than they should have, taking her back to that dark first night with him. Some details felt a little fuzzy – probably because she had spent so much time trying to push that particular memory out of her head – but one moment in particular always clearly stood out to her: when she told him how scared she was, and he asked her not to be. Ultimately, that had been where she slipped up – she even remembered the exact tone of his voice as he said it – so sad and longing. It confused her, enough to where she ceased her struggle, only for a second...but that's all it ever takes, isn't it? It had been all over for her then, but maybe it had been all over for him as well – dropping his guard to reveal someone who, in spite of his fearsome reputation, was a man whose only desires in life revolved abound being so feared.

An entertaining thought, though highly unlikely. In any case, Evie still didn't entirely appreciate the change, because it only served to remind her how unpredictable Crane could be; how quickly everything was apt to change. She sighed and turned off the shower.

The room was empty - a welcome surprise. She had become so used to Crane always being everywhere, waiting for her. She pulled on a large t-shirt and fell on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. This was...okay. Better than the courthouse, at least, she reminded herself. No gunshots, screaming, cheering, crying...just pure, calming silence fore several minutes. Until there was a knock on the door, and Crane walked in. Evie bolted up from the bed.

He had that smug, satisfied look on his face that she had become so wary and distrusting of. "I have something for you." Crane sat down next to her on the bed and smiled, Evie wished she had put on more clothing. He handed her an envelope and motioned for her to open it.

There were two things inside: an ID with a heavily photo-shopped school picture of hers in the name of Darcy Lynn Sinclair. What a ridiculous sounding name. The other item was an old photograph of a house.

"That's a really old safe-house of mine in Washington." he explained.

"Washington...state?"

Crane nodded. "It would be a nice place to start out."

She put the ID back in the envelope, but lingered on the picture. It was a cute house, painted a cheery yellow with a lot of windows, nestled under large evergreens. You could see a lake in the background.

"It'll need repairs of course, a fresh coat of paint, we'll have to get new furniture – I haven't been there in something like fifteen years." His hand slid out to take hers. "I thought it would make a nice Christmas-slash-birthday gift for you."

Fuck, her birthday. What was it – mid-January? That meant she had been with him two months. Why did it feel like so much longer? The seasons hadn't changed, there was still snow on the ground and all, but still, with how slowly time had seemed to move around him she felt like a year should have passed at least.

"Do you like it?" Crane gave her hand a tentative squeeze, looking at her, eager and expectant.

"It's nice – beautiful." she corrected, attempting a smile. "When do we leave?"

She felt her reaction wasn't terribly convincing, but he appeared pleased enough by it. "A day or so, maybe – a week at the latest." He pulled her into a hug.

Evie reacted rather stiffly to affectionate display. Again, everything had changed for her withing a few brief minutes; she had learned she would be leaving behind the city she had known her whole life. And that would be it – the nail in the coffin – no chance of return, or seeing her family and friends, or getting her life back. Those few glimpses of hope beyond the horizon she had worked so hard to fool herself into thinking existed were all but gone now. She had to swallow those feelings, though – for now – because there was Crane in front of her, so happy and at ease in a way she hadn't seen him before. If she spoiled this for him, she worried she might never receive this kindness again. He kissed her, and it was warm and simple and nice, but she knew where it always led to. Crane slipped her shirt over her head, allowing his hands and eyes to roam over her naked body, she saw the growing bulge in his thin pajama pants. Evie didn't really feeling up for this – well, she never really did – but she helped him undress anyway and scooted further onto the bed. She looked at the wall as he got on top her.

It was an entirely unexpected move when Crane suddenly rolled over, putting her on top. He took her face between his hands, his thumb stroking her cheek as Evie felt his throbbing member underneath her, rubbing harmlessly against her girly parts in a way that made her shudder. His cold gaze held hers for what felt like an eternity.

His eyes challenged her, dared her. Dared her to kiss him and mean it. Dared her to fuck him without looking away. Dared her to for once take control of what was happening to her.

With her chest still against his, she moved her hips until her core aligned with his cock, and slowly started impaling herself on it. Crane grinned and went to put his hands on her hips, presumably to slam her the rest of the down onto his dick, but she stopped him, pinning his wrists down. Evie watched, mildly terrified, as confusion briefly crossed his features, before he smiled at her wickedly again. She held her breath as she continued to push herself against him, allowing him to push further inside, and her stomach churned as he let out a groan.

Evie quickly pushed herself up. It seemed to hurt a little more this way, but she was tired of always being pressed up against him, and began to rock her hips unsteadily. Crane's response was all too enthusiastic – he took his chance to put his hands on her hips, guiding her thrusts for a while before placing the pad of his thumb on the usual spot again her clit, making lazy circular motions until she instinctively began rolling her hips in earnest on her own, soon grinding frantically against him to get her release – the only time she spent with him where she could forget everything terrible about all of this, if but only for a few moments. Crane moved in time with her until he felt the familiar twitches and spasms of her orgasm around his cock, at which he dragged her down, their chests touching again as he gripped her hips tightly and slammed into her.

She didn't take her eyes off of him the entire time. Even as she came, her orgasm causing her vision to appear dark and spotty for a brief moment, she continued to stare at him until he reached his own climax, the look on his face as he did was surprisingly arousing to her. She bucked hard, practically milking him as Crane spilled himself inside of her.

For once, Evie didn't feel so disgusting and used up.

Honestly, it shocked her to feel like...she had liked what they had just done. Satisfied with it, even. She rolled off him, thinking back to their earlier conversation.

A new life, a new identity, a new home in which the only recognizable thing from her days as Evie Addams would be Crane. She stared at the envelope, sitting innocently on the edge of her nightstand.

As long as she was being honest with herself...Evie had always wanted to leave Gotham.


	7. Chapter 8

**Another replaced chapter. Still short but much better now, I think. **

**~Lilli S.**

* * *

The rest of the day passed in awkward normalcy. They went back downstairs to the living room, going through the small movie collection left by the mysterious previous owners. At one point, Crane left her for a few hours to go to his room, under the guise of orchestrating their escape. Evie wasn't at all tempted to bother him – she enjoyed having time along to herself for once, and after earlier she needed to sort out her thoughts.

She didn't get very far – everything was still so weird and confusing to make sense of – and so for now, Evie was again sitting on the sofa with Crane, who had pulled her legs up so they laid across his lap as they watched some old version Anna Karenina. He rested his hand on her knee, where it occasionally wandered to brush up and down her thigh.

This was actually a scene she had pictured herself in many times, usually featuring some cute boy whom Evie imagined would meet in class, maybe a bookstore, or who a friend would introduce her to at some party. It was fun to daydream about such things – two people in love, living in a cool apartment in some funky part of town, discussing their secrets and hopes for the future and all that as they sat on the couch, watching old movies….they way she was right now with Crane.

Reality sure had a funny way of dashing those fantasies.

The truth was, Evie would have given anything – anything at all – for this to feel as normal as it must have appeared. She wondered if she would ever experience being in love the way she always thought she would, or even just to be happy. Happy-ish. For a second she felt kind of annoyed at Crane. Wasn't he supposed to be some super-mastermind of psychology? Surely he could have easily made her think this was a wanted situation. That would probably make things easier on him too, so why didn't he just do it? Even without that effort, should she have just...succumbed by now? The Beast was no manipulative genius, and still managed to get Belle to love and accept him him in spite of being a secretive douche with anger issues. The victims of the first recorded case of Stockholm Syndrome had formed irrational bonds with their captors – completely average bank-robbers – in less than a week. Evie didn't previously consider herself to be a particularly strong-minded or willed person (if she was, she wouldn't have been here with Crane at all), so it seemed strange that at this point in her capture that she would keep bouncing back and forth between acceptance and denial.

But she didn't really mind how things had went today. Evie had liked her alone time, and watching movies, and (for once) she genuinely enjoyed their time in bed earlier. Things had been more or less pleasant between them for a while now, actually. Crane had become less harsh, more reasonable.

Evie reached out to tug on Crane's shirt until he laid down with her, his head on her stomach. He sighed contentedly, closing his eyes, the tips of his lashes touching the tops of his cheeks. She hesitantly ran her fingers through his hair, feeling his body become more relaxed. She almost smiled a little, in spite of herself. This was...nice.

"I think I'll put in one more day, then we can leave." he told her, eyes still closed. "Pack a small go bag – your backpack should serve fine – with that envelope and a few changes of clothes. Nothing else."

"Ok." she bit her lip. "Are you ever going to tell me how we're leaving?"

"You'll know soon enough." he hooked an arm around her thigh, as he turned onto his side to watch the movie again.

* * *

Evie couldn't sleep. She had been staring at the clock for hours now, unable to get up due to the fact that Crane was always bound to wake up not long after she had. And so she had continue to lay in bed, watching the red numbers on the bedside clock intently, no sounds in the room save for Crane's rhythmic breathing into her shoulder, nothing to entertain her but her bleak thoughts of the future – because this had to be a trick. Perhaps there really was a neat lake house in Washington Crane was planning to go to, but he couldn't be serious about taking her. How will I die? she wondered. A watery grave, like his aristocratic victims? No, she would be more personal to him – torture seemed the likelier route. Then she remembered that Crane actually had never been much of an actual killer during his prime as a villain, so yes, definitely torture.

She sighed, drumming her fingers against the mattress, until, finally, it was 5:30. Early enough for the possibility of alone time, but close enough to their usual wake-up time where Crane wouldn't be too annoyed at waking up to find her gone. She slowly shimmied herself under his arm, then off the bed.

The girls room was as charming as ever, with its twinkle lights, and soft blue walls with all the pictures strung up onto it depicting such happy times. She picked up the envelope from the vanity and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking the corner of it with her thumb and wondering once again if its contents could be real, if her life as Darcy Sinclair was really beginning tonight. Her backpack sat in the far corner of the room – untouched since her second day. Inside was still the jeans and sweaters from her first attempt at getting away. They would do. She slipped the envelope in with the clothes and exited the room, heading down to the kitchen for a nice, quiet breakfast with herself.

The bagel didn't seem to taste like anything – Evie realized she didn't actually feel very hungry at all. She folded her hands in front of her and stared out the window for a long time, watching the pink and gold spreading across the sky. After a while she heard noises upstairs – Crane was awake, but she didn't feel bothered to move. Just continued to sit there, with her hardly touched breakfast in front of her. The coffee maker turned on.

Crane appeared in the doorway after a few minutes, in his usual disheveled suit. The seams were coming apart in the other arm now. She noticed he had skipped his shower, which left his hair looking a little greasier than normal, but had still bothered to trim down his stubble.

"Good morning." he walked smoothly past her and strait to the coffee, pouring her a mug as well and setting it down in front of her hand before taking a seat next to her. He always put butter in their coffee. It was strange, and made the coffee taste oddly rich, but Evie had actually come to really like it. She accepted the mug, taking a long a sip, waiting for him to put his down before asking him something.

"Are we...really leaving today?"

"Looks that way." he answered. "Did you pack your bag?"

Evie nodded. "It's by the door."

Crane noticed the expression on her face, one that he knew all too well: fear. It was intoxicating, but still not something he wanted to deal with so early. He smiled warmly, taking her face in his hands. "Everything will be fine." gently, he kissed her.

Evie blushed. She wanted to trust him – she wanted this to be real and wonderful and stop feeling stupid and pathetic and helpless. She smiled back.


	8. Chapter 9

**I'm going to stop promising shit for this story because I feel like it always bites me in the ass whenever I do it and I just come out looking like a dick.**

**Sorry, but I kept go over this chapter and re-writing junk because I wanted the escape to seem, you know, believable. Or at least not lazy. I think I succeeded.**

* * *

Crane was anxious to leave. He was very nearly tempted to leave at lunch, but his plan was set at nightfall. It would pretty much only work after nightfall, he reminded himself.

So he went through the usual motions for his day: death here, exile there, tell everyone to shut up in-between. And then, toward the end of the day, he found himself with a more...exciting case.

"Commissioner Gordon." he tried not to laugh as he stated it. "Welcome."

"No lawyer," the Commissioner's voice boomed across the courtroom. "no witnesses...what sort of due process is this?"

"Your guilt has been determined – this is merely a sentencing hearing." Crane leaned back in his chair, still fighting the urge to smile. "So what will it be? Death, or exile?"

Gordon's eyes narrowed at him. "Crane, if you think we're going onto that ice willingly, you've got another thing coming."

Crane shrugged. "Death, then."

"Looks that way."

"Very well then – DEATH." Blood pounded in his ears as he brought down the gavel. "By Exile." He watched the Commissioner and his friends as they were dragged out of the courthouse, finally allowing himself a smirk as his body practically shook with excitement. How carthartic it felt to put away a major player in his downfall and incarceration – it was beyond satisfying. He felt lighter than air as he rose from his seat, ignoring everyone he passed as he made his way to his chambers. Evie looked up from her book, suprised to see him.

"Oh, hey. Is it time to go?" She flinched as he slammed the door behind him. Crane looked wild and euphoric and completely terrifying as he approached her, yanking her up from her up from her seat and pulling her toward the couch. Evie tried not to trip as she kicked off her shoes. Then Crane stopped and turned to kiss her, his hands roaming everywhere – in her hair, on her waist, up her shirt – then she felt her body being pressed into the cushions, Crane's glasses slipping off and landing softly on the rug as he climbed on top of her, his face in her neck and one arm drawing her body closer to his. He pushed her legs up until he knees touched her chest, tugging her pants off just enough to roughly shove himself inside her. His movements were hard, rough, and erratic – and ended quickly.

"Now it's time to leave." Crane panted. He rolled off her and walked to the desk to grab his bag

Evie sighed, still a little confused by the random tryst, and yanked her pants back up, grabbing her bag and waiting for Crane at the door, watching him as he patted down his pockets, appearing to be going through some sort of mental checklist before stalking past her and out of the room. She trailed a ways behind him, as usual, ignoring the stares and points and whispers that she had long since learned to stop showing her embarrassment for. At least tomorrow she might no longer be That Girl. That Girl who whores herself out to Crane. Yes, That stupid, stupid Girl.

They walked through the building and out onto the street in silence, seemingly headed toward home, but then Crane made a sharp turn three blocks or so from the courthouse, a street leading into an old gated community. Evie felt almost excited being there. This was one of the nicer neighborhoods in Gotham – it had actual houses – with yards encased in white picket fences, pools and trees with tire swings hanging off of them. She had never known anyone who lived in such a neighborhood, so she had never been to one before now. Crane paused in front of a large blue craftsman bearing several broken windows. A massive, icicle-covered willow tree grew on its side.

"Here." he gestured to the house, opening the gate for her. The pathway was cobbled, patches of ice culminating in the crevices of stone that Evie was able to easily avoid, before being greeted by the leaf-strewn porch and agape cherry red door.

Inside was trashed, as most of the nicer houses in Gotham had become, but seemed empty. Crane shut the door and set his case down, rummaging in one of the pockets while Evie looked around.

"Are we meeting someone here?" She asked. "Someone to get us out?" Evie glanced down at the pictures in front of the fireplace, which had no doubt belonged on the mantle. There were a lot of dogs. Somehow, that made this place sadder.

"Well, no." Crane walked past her, strait to the couch, pulling off the throw blanket and smoothing it out onto the floor.

"Ok...then why are we here?" she felt his hand his hand on her shoulder.

Then she felt a sharp prick.

"There you go..." Crane murmured, quickly tossing the syringe aside and drawing out another from his pocket.

Evie froze. She hadn't expected that. She brought a shaking hand to her side where the needle had stuck her, wondering what this would do to her. For a brief moment, she thought it could be a sedative – feeling her limbs growing heavy and her thoughts sluggish – but then, suddenly, there was only pain.

Not just pain, but searing agony. It felt like her veins were tying up in knots, blood boiling so hot she swore she felt her skin bubbling, melting and sliding off her muscles, her organs were shredded through with rusty serrated knives. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. Then she panicked; she couldn't breathe, and she clawed at her throat until her fingers became slick with blood, the red running down her chest, seeping into her shirt.

It should have been a more uncomfortable ordeal to watch, but not to Crane. It was hard to feel guilty when he he found it just so _interesting_. Such a range of reactions, of emotions – the scientist in him just couldn't help but be fascinated. He observed a few more seconds of it before calmly walking over to her, pulling her hands away from her neck and gripping her into a tight embrace, making sure her arms were properly pinned between them before giving her the sedative. Once her body went slack, he gently lowered her onto the blanket on the floor, taking a quick moment to check her pulse (decent) and survey her injuries. Shallow surface wounds; they would heal up in a week in so. He sighed and stood up, shucking off his worn suit coat and removing his glasses, carefully putting them each into the backpack, before walking over to the nearest mirror to put in contacts, which quickly changed his eyes to brown – close enough in shade to Evie's to where they might pass as related, as he needed the people he was meeting tonight to believe – and finally made sure all his hair was properly tucked into his hat. He would be unrecognizable enough; at the very least he looked just the right amount of different to where people more familiar with his image would merely feel uncomfortable and confused, but not outright attempt to accuse him of being who he was.

Kneeling at her side again, he gingerly wrapped the blanket around her and lifted her up.

* * *

The port was deserted, as he expected. He quickly spotted the blue light. The ground was salted here, a loud, wet crunch sounding off with each step, but Crane was calm and unfettered. As he drew closer to the light, he suddenly heard footsteps behind him.

"Excuse me."

Crane turned around, replacing his calm demeanor with a mask of slight terror. "Is the medic boat still here?" he did his best to sound panicked.

"Whoa there," the man stepped a little more into the light, revealing himself to be a pale and portly fellow with a patchy beard. "who wants to know?"

"Please, please my daughter needs help." he even managed to make his voice crack a little.

But the man appeared to have spotted the blood on the blanket – quickly becoming very serious, his previous suspicion dropped. "Okay buddy, let's get her to the medic – hurry now." he ushered them across the way. "What's your name, guy?"

"Uh, Eddy." Crane answered shakily.

"Eddy, alright, I'm Chris. Now – did you try taking your daughter to the hospitals first?"

Crane nodded. "No hospital has the stuff right now to figure out what was wrong, treat her...A - a nurse told me to come here."

"Okay, okay, I believe you, Eddie." Chris guided him up a ramp and into a small house boat, opening the door for him. "Jay," he called out, "hey I got someone for you to check out. Just set her down on the table right there, Ed, nice and easy."

He kicked a chair out of the way to lay Evie down as he was instructed. The medic emerged from the back room, a man so tall he was forced to hunch into the cramped main room, with long, neatly pulled-back locs.

"This is Eddy." Chris explained. "His daughter is sick."

Jay wordlessly crossed the room and over to the table, gently pulling the blood-stained blankets off of Evie. His eyes widened – her skin had become sickly pale, her veins swollen and straining against the surface, other areas sporting unusually large bruises. The medic pulled out a light to shine into her eyes, one of which had filled with blood. "She made these herself?" He asked Crane, gesturing to the scratches on her neck.

"I think maybe she was hallucinating." Crane answered breathlessly, trying not to look as in awe as he felt as he watched Jay continue to check Evie. "And those bruises weren't there an hour ago."

"Her lungs sound clear of fluid at least, thank god - good pulse too if you can believe it. I definitely think there's some internal bleeding though, maybe a small hemorrhage causing her eye to stroke out like that, but – shit – I don't know what to think of the rest of her. I swear to you, I have never seen or read anything that matches up to all of this: she needs an ER now." he pulled the blanket back over Evie. "Normally kids her age go alone, but her doctors are gonna need you."

Chris spoke up. "Did the nurse tell you to bring documents? Birth certificates, ID's, all that?"

"Yeah." Crane nodded. "Yeah, they're in my bag."

"Good, good – once we take you across, there's no coming back. You got change?"

"I have cash."

"Ok so we'll give you some change." Chris walked out, presumably to un-dock the boat.

"Sorry, we can't risk using the radio to have an ambulance waiting." Jay said. "You'll have to use a pay phone once we get there, and just wait outside the marina. They've been keeping one near the docks lately though – she won't be waiting more than five minutes, I guarantee it."

The boat swayed ever so slightly as they slowly made their way out of the port.

"I understand." he said glumly. "Where does this boat go?"

"Bridgeport." Jay responded as he took a seat. "It takes about an hour, but I'm sure Chris will try to see if he could cut that time down for you, given the, um, nature of this illness."

Crane wandered over to the unconscious Evie, suppressing a smile as he tucked a curl behind her ear.

_Perfect._


	9. Chapter 10

**So one thing that super annoys me in Batman Begins is that when Bruce gets gassed with Cranes fear toxin, Fox is just magically able to completely deconstruct this unknown poison (where the main ingredient is a flower that only grows halfway around the world) and create an antidote in like a day. I'm a stickler for scientific factuality, and my annoyance and the lack of it in movies really shows for a second here.**

**Anyway, blah blah blah, got busy with life, but here's a new chapter. **

* * *

Everything hurt. Evie felt almost paralyzed to the table she lay on, acutely aware of every muscle, every cell her body contained pinning her down with pain.

She continued to lay there for several minutes, contemplating an attempt to get up, or at least look around. Had they even made it out of Gotham? Where was Crane? The more she lay there, the more she became aware of other things: the needles in her arm, the heart monitor, she heard traffic - horns and police sirens and planes – which helped her conclude that they definitely weren't in Gotham anymore.

After much inner debate, she forced her eyes open. It was like slowly peeling off a scab.

It was...a motel room. That much was clear by the beige wallpaper and thick, ugly drapes. She wanted to push herself up, survey her surroundings a little better, but she felt like the slightest movement could cause her to rip open.

"Oh, you're awake."

Evie doubted she had regained enough control in her face to glare, but she tried valiantly anyway. "Where are we?" Her throat was raw, each syllable scratched its way out like sandpaper against a peeled orange. "What...did you do to me?" She could feel his presence nearby, but was too angry to look in his direction.

"Bridgeport." Crane answered briskly. "And, well, first I gave you an altered version of an old biological warfare experiment – think Resident Evil, I guess – except you would stay dead. If you died. But I was positive you wouldn't." He sounded almost giddy, making the situation even more unnerving.

"Well thank fuck for that."

"No apparent loss in quick-thinking skills..." She heard him mumble, along with the scratch of pen against paper which for whatever reason sounded much too loud.

"Is that really necessary?"

"Yeah." The clicks of pen seemed equally deafening. "I wouldn't be a scientist if I didn't write the results of my experiments down, Evie."

She grit her teeth. "I am not an experiment."

"Anyway," Crane ignored her, "the second was a sedative, with just enough antidote as insurance to keep the first shot from killing you."

"Couldn't you have just made something that wouldn't have almost killed me?" Evie lamented. "Or just not have tried to kill me at all?"

"Honestly I wasn't sure I wanted rest the whole escape plan on the shoulders of your acting skills – believe me, this was the easiest, and believe it or not, the safest way." He knelt down beside her; she could feel his breathe against her neck. "And I'm going to let you in on a little something that will ruin every sci-fi movie for you, forever, and that is: you can't just made shit like this in a day. It's true. It doesn't matter how genius or talented you are, or how unrestricted your resources are – it just doesn't happen." His shoes squeaked against the floor as he stood back up, his hands sliding under her back and forcing her upright.

It actually wasn't as painful as she anticipated – her muscles were weak and her skin tingled, but it was more like moving after sleeping in a bad position, or even flu fatigue, rather than her body violently ripping apart at the seams and spilling her entrails onto the cheap carpet like she had previously anticipated.

She looked at Crane, just for a moment. He was shaven and showered, already in new clothes, making Evie feel even worse, convinced that she currently represented the withered human embodiment of a piece of beef jerky.

"Rate your pain."

"I don't know...6-ish?"

Crane continued through the motions of a dull and average checkup while Evie stared blankly at the wall behind him. Lastly, he asked her to stand – which she did – an overwhelming sense of vertigo cause her legs to buckle, but she was able to steady herself and stand without support as he requested.

"You appear to be perfectly fine, you'll just have to wear a scarf for a few days is all."

"Scarf?" Evie's hands flew to her throat, her fingertips tracing over the long, thin scabs, and she remembered how they got there. Her anger quickly faded, the blood draining from her face.

In Crane's earliest taunts he had threatened the use of his fear toxin; she had been rather unperturbed by it, still being full of false confidence and all - but now, as her memory suddenly flooded with the unbridled terror and pain from the night before, she cautiously wondered if that threat could still be valid? Maybe he was saving it for the right time and place...the right purpose. The thought suddenly made her nervous. Honestly, she often found herself forgetful of his past. Due to her unfortunate first-hands accounts, Evie knew what a twisted, awful person Crane could be, but it was somewhat difficult to imagine him torturing on a larger scale, running drug rings and being flocked by henchmen – although, she supposed most sociopaths tended to appear to be perfectly normal, charming people.

Crane carefully removed the needles from her arm. "Do you think you could stand on your own in the shower?"

She nodded. "Yeah I'll be fine."

"Good. I'm sure you'll feel much better once you're clean."

_Doubtful_, she thought to herself, but walked unsteadily to the bathroom anyway, fighting not to collapse onto the linoleum as she shut the door behind her. That had been a more draining feat than she expected. She almost jumped out of her skin when she saw her reflection: her hair was greasy, a mushroom of knotted bedhead sticking out, one of her eyes looked strangely bloodshot, and then there were the scratches - bright red and slightly swollen against her sickly pale skin. Gripping the counter with both hands, she inched her way to the shower and turned it on. Her limbs felt heavy and weird – almost similar to how she felt after being given Crane's bio-weapon – and she panicked, dramatically swinging her arm behind her as some odd attempt to prove that she was still retaining control over her body, but knocking over the tray of soaps and mini-shampoo bottles the the process. She winced as they all clattered loudly on the floor, hoping that maybe, perhaps, the running shower would mask it.

But, of course, it didn't, the noise sending Crane rushing through the door, probably thinking she had fainted, but instead finding Evie in her awkward, knock-kneed position against the counter and sighed. He calmly approached her, helping her upright and then proceeded to undress her.

"I can still shower on my own." Evie insisted.

"Fine," he answered curtly, "but I'll be standing right here to make sure you don't hurt yourself."

"Yeah that's your job, I guess." she mumbled, trying not to slip as she kicked off her jeans. Crane pursed his lips in annoyance at the comment, but said nothing as he guided her into the tub, making sure she was steady before stooping down to pick up the dropped bottles from the floor and set them down withing her reach before leaning back against the counter. Evie felt a little better, at least, the hot water feeling lovely against her achy muscles. She sat on the floor to give her weak legs a rest as she attempted to finger through the wad of matted curls on the side of her head, eventually settling for just dumping the whole bottle of conditioner and hoping for the best for when she attempted to brush it out later. Curly hair pretty much always looks knotted to hell anyway. For a while she just sat under the spray, hoping that maybe Crane would get bored waiting for her and leave, but who was she kidding? When she finally gave up and turned off the water, he was right there to hoist her back up, wrap a towel around her, and cautiously lead her to the bed. He pulled out a fresh set of clothes out of her backpack, and Evie bit her tongue, trying not to scowl at him as he helped dress her, finally knotting a thick grey scarf around her neck.

"I was going to have you walk around for a bit," he said, pulling her up a bit more to sit on the edge of the bed, "but you're obviously not as well as you told me you were."

"I did feel fine." she asserted. "It was just when I got to the walking part."

"Mhmm." Crane slipped his bag strap over his shoulder before putting on her backpack. "We might as well leave now." he reached out a hand to her and she took it, standing up only to lean against him as they walked outside.

It felt weird to be in a noisy, functioning city again. Everything seemed to shine, the atmosphere was lighter – there was traffic and people yelling and children running. How strange to think that everyone here was so untouched by the mayhem just across the water, going on with their lives as if nothing was wrong, and Evie found herself sort of resenting them for it. Didn't anyone care about what was happening?

They stopped at a green SUV with California plates.

"We're stealing a car, really?"

"No, I _already_ stole a car." He set their things in the back while Evie took her place in the passengers seat.

"Are we driving all the way there?"

"Unless you would like to be put down for another eight hours, yes." Crane looked tired and exasperated, and Evie wondered if he had stayed awake the whole time she was recovering.

"I would be good." she mumbled.

"We're driving." he snapped.

Evie didn't know that Crane was nervous. Not of being caught, but worrying that she might come to realize he had less power outside of Gotham. He had left behind his connections, and therefore the threats against her family were null and void; for a few days, at least, she couldn't be subjected to the same level of isolation as he had kept her. He knew it would only take one careless slip-up, and she could be gone in an instant. Evie was not the brightest bulb, he knew that, but her emotions has made her quite the unstable experiment: some days she was docile and content, and a rare, erratic few she would lash out with anger or sadness. Although, not once had she ever really blamed him for anything. Even today, after being woken up do discover she could have nearly died, she responded rather passive aggressively to the situation, seeming much more occupied (and annoyed) with the fact that she was stumbling around like Bambi rather than focusing on the bigger picture: which was that he had purposely injected her with a dangerous, borderline-deadly disease in order to smuggle them out of Gotham and into a life with him: her tormentor, abuser, man who took her from her family and all that. Evie had simply told him his plan felt a little extreme, only vaguely hinting to blame him for what he had done.

Either way, Crane didn't much care for the few present unexpecteds, and paired with the lack of sleep from the previous night he had suddenly become quite irritable.

They drove to the freeway in silence.

Until Evie spoke up. "What are we going to do when we get there?"

He sighed. "I don't know...survey the house for repairs, probably order some new furniture."

"Why don't we just go out and buy new furniture?"

Crane shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"I just thought it was something...people do." by people she meant couples, which, in the strangest of terms, she figured they sort of were. "Do you think I've forgotten how to interact with normal society or something?" These were comforting statements to Crane – ones that showed that her mind was still very far from thoughts of possible escape.

"It's not that." he said quickly. "It's just...we're going to be on the road for a few days at least, and I didn't exactly think you would want to immediately travel some more."

She accepted the answer. "Alright." She went back to drumming her fingers on her thigh, the melody for a piano scale practice playing in her head. "So why Washington? Are you from there?"

"No." Crane frowned. "I actually chose Washington because of its complete lack of connections to me."

"Well that's very clever of you, I guess." Evie stretched out uncomfortably in her seat. "Where are you from, then? I feel like you're not from Gotham."

"I'm not."

Evie looked crossly at him. "You're setting me up for a very boring 50 years, you know. What am I supposed to tell people when they ask me about you?"

He shrugged. "Make something up and I'll go with it. Maybe you don't remember, but we're not actually supposed to be us."

"Fine." She remembered the California license plates on the SUV. "I'll tell everyone how the _Sinclair's_ are from _San Francisco _and that you're a computer programmer. Have fun dealing with neighbors constantly asking you to fix their crap."

"That's actually really good." Crane said. "A fake career that gives me the perfect work from home excuse."

Evie rolled her eyes, sinking back into her seat to pout. "I'll make them think you like being called 'Vic' too."

This was good. She was cooperating – sarcastically, of course, but it was still cooperation. Crane felt calm again, although slightly unnerved that she had asked about his childhood. He had been part of so remarkably few relationships that he had quite forgotten that at some point ones past becomes up for discussion. He would have to find some way to derail that curiosity. For now, though, he could relax with the knowledge that, so far, everything was going right.


	10. Chapter 11

**I've been spending a lot of time reading up on my Batman and whatnot (I'm all caught up on Gotham as well and it's great). To be honest, I had never been much of a fan before, but soon I will rise into the ranks of elitist nerd douchebags. Also I've spent more time than I would like to admit on Sims, the embarrassing part being that I'm not even really playing. I'm still so annoyed that my Sim Evie and Crane had a kid that I just sort of stare at my screen totally pissed for like and hour before quitting. I want to start over but let's be real - I'm far too ****busy**** lazy, and plus I'll never create such a perfect Sim Cillian replica ever again. Oh well.**

* * *

Crane managed to force himself to stay awake during the long drive to Cleveland, thoroughly exhausted to the point where he had to fight not to pass out as they finally pulled off the freeway and checked into a motel.

He contemplated the use of the handcuffs and sedatives he had packed in his bag – he brought them for the express purpose of keeping Evie contained and out of trouble while he slept, but he wondered whether their use was really necessary. They might do more harm than good, he reasoned; a sign of distrust like cuffing her to the bed frame or drugging her (again) might alert her to re-examine the situation, thus realizing she was in a much better position to escape as they were en route to the lake house. No, they could definitely stay in the bag for now, and he would try to sleep lightly until they reached their destination.

"How am I tired already?" Evie exclaimed, flopping onto the bed. "I was out for a while, wasn't I?"

"About nine hours or so." He confirmed as he set their things down. "But it's normal – your body still requires a lot of rest to recover."

Evie nodded sleepily. "Makes sense." she yawned.

It would appear the use of the either form of entrapment would be unnecessary - for tonight, at least. Evie quickly shucked off her shoes and pants and burrowed under the covers. She didn't even even seem to remember what happened earlier; it was like her brush with death at his hand had never even happened. Crane got undressed and slipped into bed with her, Evie's small, warm body pleasantly pressed up against his. She dozed off quickly, but he managed to stay awake a while longer, in spite of his exhaustion, gently running the bade of his finger along the scratches on her neck. He closed his eyes, re-playing the key moments from the previous night, the struggle, and the blood. The scratches were fully scabbed up now, but for a moment, when he opened his eyes again he imagined them glowing red, briefly pulsating with color against her snowy pale skin, and shivered. He had forgotten what a thrill that sort of thing could be. Back when he was young, performing much seedier experiments, every day felt wondrously exciting and new – he was alive then. But it had, of course, ended; replaced with wards and cells and several years of grim solitude.

Those demons had been sleeping for a very long time.

* * *

The thick curtains made it hard to tell how long he had been out, but Evie was still down for the count, and he supposed that was all that really mattered. Crane reached out in front of him, fingertips grazing the rim of his glasses. The movement slightly woke up Evie, and she nuzzled his arm in her half-asleep state. His glasses fell to the floor, sounding off with a soft thud against the cheap carpet. Carefully, he wiggled his arm out from underneath her and rolled off the bed, slowly circling to the other side of the bed and crouching down.

"Hey."

And now Evie was apparently awake.

"What are you doing?"she asked.

"My glasses fell of the table."

"Oh." Leaning over the bed, Evie quickly picked them up and slipped them onto his face. "There you go, Velma." She rolled onto her back and yawned. "What time is it?"

Crane stood up, everything coming back into focus, and checked the clock.

"Almost three." Which meant a good eleven hours of sleep for them. Enough to get him through a full day of driving. "Since you're up, why don't you start getting ready to leave."

"Mmkay." Evie got out of bed, scooping her jeans and backpack off the floor on her way to the bathroom.

Crane dressed and brushed his teeth, tossing his bags next to the door and taking a seat at the small table by the window to wait for Evie.

"We should go to, like, a diner or something." she called from behind the door.

"Sure, sure." Crane sighed. "Just snack for now and we can stop in, I don't know – Indiana."

Evie stepped out of the bathroom, slinging the backpack over her shoulder. "So how long is it going to take up to get to the lake?"

"Another few days at least." He stood up.

She frowned, but said nothing, instead fiddling with her scarf, unable to knot it with the same finesse as Crane, who shook his head and fixed it for her before guiding her out to the car.

He still wasn't much for talking. Their days together in Gotham had been spent with him "working" and her doing whatever to pass the pass the time without him – their time spent alone pretty much involved doing solitary activities - reading, watching movies, playing piano - in the same room or general area, or doing "other things". Evie was a little unnerved to fully realize how little they really talked, or rather, how little she really knew about the man sitting next to her. At this point, the only knowledge of him she had that couldn't already be found in a book was how he took his coffee. Prime, internet-article-worthy info, that was.

That, of course, had been a purposeful move on Crane's part, of course; limiting her knowledge of him in this way. He wanted her to primarily see him as clever, dangerous, and terrifying, and so he constructed their interactions to push that persona – a successful strategy which he then seamlessly morphed into gaslighting until their relationship felt more typical - but part of what had made it so beautifully effortless was the fact that at no point in Gotham had Evie asked anything of him. Even in the early days, when she bold and still very much careless toward his consequences, she had never bothered him with inquiries of his childhood or his hopes and dreams (whatever people ask their partners about), or seemed particularly interested in knowing who he was beyond who he presented himself as. Perhaps she just never expected it to go this far. Even now she was still partially convinced that move across country was just an elaborate rouse, and that he was devising for her a very slow, very painful death.

But there was another part of her that said forty years. Forty years with him – and she was right – that was a terribly long time for him to share nothing about himself to her. He was able to learn new things about her all the time, being both an incredibly perceptive person and having great skill at manipulating anything he ever wanted to know out of her. Evie had no penchant for those sort of things in the slightest, leaving pretty much the only option for her to learn such things about him was by being explicitly told.

Crane glanced over at her. She was leaning against the door, eyes glazed over, her mind obviously elsewhere. She kept reaching for her hair. That must have been a habit for her before, playing with her hair while she daydreamed or thought things out. He cleared his throat, snapping Evie out of her thoughts.

"I moved to Gotham for college."

She looked confused, then surprised. "Oh." A few moments passed in awkward silence as Evie wondered if he wanted her to press on. "Where did you move from?"

"Upstate." He answered simply. "Just a boring hick town. Mostly farmland." Besides the name, he also left out how it was a place full of morons and religious fanatics, decrepit buildings full of foul creatures...Crane's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I left the second I graduated."

Incredibly vague, but still better than nothing. She was more curious to find out of they had anything in common, though. "Any siblings?"

"I have a younger sister somewhere, but we've never met."

Evie noticed the jaw clench, a clear sign that that was probably enough for background questions. She quickly changed the topic. "How about, I don't know, a favorite author or book or something?"

-"I was always more invested in science than literature." That was a lie. Well, a partial lie = for he did actually prefer science to literature – but Crane had several well-loved books and authors stored away in his mind. He felt like a bit of a schmuck for lying about something something so basic and simple, but sharing personal information was still such a foreign thing.

Evie fell silent again. This was a waste – he obviously still didn't feel like talking about himself, even if he had been the one to initiate it. A few minutes later she found an MP3 full of obscure, folksy-sounding music in the glove-box, choosing to spend the next few hours listening to it rather than suffering the strange quietness between them again.

The sun was rising behind them as they pulled off the freeway in Gary and to a diner parking lot.

"Thank fuck, I'm starving." Evie yanked the headphones out of her ears, shoving the whole thing into her pocket. She bee-lined to the bathroom after they had picked a table.

Crane quickly noticed that everyone else in the place was huddled around a TV on the far side of the counter. Not thinking much of it at first, his heart stopped when he heard the word, "Gotham". He noticed how silent the group watching was, and wondered if the bomb had gone off. With Evie still gone for the moment, he stood up and joined the group.

"-We are still gathering more information, but as of now, Gotham is safe."

Not exactly what he had expected to hear. "What happened?" he whispered.

"The Batman just saved Gotham, that's what." a man answered.

Crane's eyes narrowed at the man. "What? He's back?"

"Was." a woman corrected, tears shining in her eyes. "He sacrificed himself to drag the bomb out over the Atlantic."

Well there was a relief. He would feel a little put out if his best nemesis had returned to Gotham just as he was leaving to go play house across the country. Crane turned his attention back to the screen.

"As the city begins their long struggle to recover after nearly six months of dictatorship under the terrorist Bane, the people have stated that one of the biggest priorities will be recovering the mass-released convicts out of Arkham and Blackgate. Many were apprehended by rallied members of the GCPD at the Gotham City Courthouse following Bane's death, but it may take weeks or even months before a comprehensive list of still-at-large criminals is made known. Until such time, Gotham, the state of New York, as well as the surrounding states of New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Connecticut are enforcing checkpoints and blockades to hinder possible escape attempts - "

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Batman was dead. Bane was dead. He had avoided capture by a hair. Was this Christmas? It sure felt like Christmas. Crane walked back to their table, stifling his laughter. He had never been the recipient of such dumb luck in his life – the feeling causing his heart to pound so loudly, the rush of blood deafening in his ears, and he felt like he might explode. Evie emerged from the bathroom and rejoined with him at the table, but paused before sitting down.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Crane was more of the smirking type, with an occasional know-it-all grin – she had never seen him smile with what looked like genuine happiness the way he was right now. It was a jarring, unsettling thing to witness, instantly putting Evie on edge.

Crane shook his head. "It's nothing." Evie could find out later – after they were settled in Washington, if at all possible. He was no stranger to hiding things from her.


	11. Chapter 12

**Sorry updates have been slow but trust me - I really want to finish this. Writing issues aside, finals are slowly creeping up on me, so updates might continue be spotty for a while, but I am NOT putting this bitch on hiatus. No sir. So just bear with me and stay tuned **

**~ Lilli S.**

* * *

All in all, it took four days to get to the Lake House. Four days of motel rooms and bad food and mind-numbing stress, but on the fifth day, they had finally arrived.

The house was a lot larger than Evie expected. The picture had made it seem more...quaint - more of a cozy retirement cottage than anything, really – but this was a _house_. A very large, very run-down house. Over a decade of neglect had settled it into an almost eerie form of decay, the yellow paint faded and chipped and even worn off completely in areas, the roof looked unsafe, to say the least, and the porch looked like it might cave in just from the thought of them standing on it.

But they didn't care. They could (and to be honest, it seemed perfectly plausible that they would) find eight raccoon families living inside and it would be preferable to the time spent on the road.

The stairs creaked in an unsettling way as they approached the house. Evie shuffled around on the porch for a few minutes while Crane dug through his bag for the key, suddenly spotting a plump older woman on the edge of their driveway.

"Well hello there!" she called from the sidewalk."Y'all movin' in?"

"Uh, yeah." Crane called back, annoyance spreading across his face. "Just got here."

Evie was supervised to see her jog her way up to meet them.

"Who the hell just walks up to greet strangers like this?" she whispered.

"People who have never lived in a city."

"Oh! I love new neighbors!" The woman exclaimed as she finally reached them, the steps groaning ominously beneath her. She stuck out her hand, and Crane paused his search for the key long enough to take it. "I'm Gladys, I live down the road with my husband Burt." she smiled widely, revealing blinding white, porcelain veneers. "We were wondering if someone would ever show up to this place – I think it's been empty longer than we've even lived here!"

Crane smiled weakly. "Well, we're here now. I'm Victor."

"Oh, how wonderful." her eyes shifted back to Evie. "And is this your lovely daughter?"

"Lovely wife." he corrected, grabbing Evie's hand and pulling her forward.

"Hi, I'm Darcy. Nice to meet you." she sounded best not to sound unsure of herself, as she used her new name formally for the first time.

Gladys kept up her smile, but the confusion, with a hint of slight judgment, was clear in her eyes. "Sorry about that – you just look so young."

Crane finally withdrew the key from the bottom of the bag, immediately unlocking the door. He cleared his throat. "It was nice meeting you, Gladys, but we had a long drive and would like to get settled now." he put an arm around Evie and shuffled her into the house.

He sighed. "This area was all rarely used summer vacation homes when I bought the place."

Evie stepped further into the house. It was...nice. The furniture was a little dusty and dated, a lot more oak than she had ever hoped to see in one place, but overall it was better than the outside had led her to expect.

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah." she shrugged, walking over to the windows overlooking the frozen lake.

"Close those blinds, please. Just for a moment."

She did, turning around to see Crane moving awkwardly around the room behind her, pushing furniture, stomping on the floor every few steps he took.

"What...are you -"

But he held up a hand to silence her, as he tested one spot a few more times and knelt down, using a pocketknife to wedge out a few floorboards, revealing a hole large enough for a person to fit through. He reached just inside the hole, pulling up a flashlight, which he quickly dusted off and clicked on, motioning for Evie to come to him.

"Shine this down there." he instructed, handing it to her. She crouched down closer to the floor, holding the light just below the opening while he carefully climbed down. Evie couldn't see exactly what was down there, but she have much time to figure it out anyway – Crane wasted no time finding what he had been looking for, quickly resurfacing with a black bag almost bigger than her (a body bag?). He threw it onto the floor before hoisting himself up and dusting off, before sitting down on the floor next to her.

Looking pleased with himself, he unzipped the bag.

"Believe it or not, Victor Sinclair was the first alias I ever created." From the bag, he withdrew carefully labeled phials, research binders and notebooks and file folders, large, clear containers of dried out and strange-looking flowers reminiscent of thistles. "I was practically still a kid, I guess, when they found me for some obscure chemistry project. I didn't think it was serious, at first – the tasks I was given were interesting enough, but overall seemed almost pointless – then they started moving me up in my job, the tasks got darker, but more satisfying...They were testing me." Trying to figure out who he was, what he really was – how far he was willing to push things – and he hadn't disappointed them. "That first big payment to me bought a fallback identity, and this house. I genuinely thought back then that I hadn't been careful enough, but Victor is the only line that stuck, the one guy in my whole network no one ever found." Then came the money, in smaller zipped bags. Hundreds of thousands of dollars stacked up on the floor around them. He handed her one. "That's going to be for tomorrow – new clothes and furniture and whatever else. I figured we could rent a moving van."

Evie, for the most part, had tried not to really think about the full extent of Crane's illegal experimentation. This was years and years worth of documentation and blood money to account for it. It was absolutely surreal, but she didn't feel...anything - nothing at all, being confronted by this level of damning evidence. Most people would have felt uncomfortable at the very least, or disturbed, but Evie was hollow, and indifferent.

"You're um...very good at saving." she said lamely, having no clue how to tactfully handle this sort of thing.

Crane didn't seem to notice her awkwardness. "I hardly used any of it. I was the head of a grossly underfunded mental asylum – I couldn't exactly spend any of this money without looking suspicious." He looked around them. "I should have asked that woman if she knew a repairman."

"You'll get another chance." Evie set the small bag down next to her. "I bet she'll come back over with 'housewarming muffins', or whatever people like that bring to unsuspecting new neighbors."

He shook his head and chuckled, looking back down at one of the flower containers, then abruptly stood up. "Onto the rest of the house." Crane took her hand and led her around. The kitchen was blue, and boasted a lot of chotchkies involving sunflowers – wind chimes, and decorative plates on the walls and even a few paintings of them in the breakfast nook. They were everywhere. Maybe whomever had decorated the place thought they would make the room feel like a garden, but they were very, very wrong.

"I like the blue, but not...anything else." Evie said slowly, to which Crane nodded in agreement. They moved to the dining room, which had yellow walls and no furniture. They shrugged and moved to the next room, with no paint and bookshelves built into the wall.

"This could be a music room." Crane suggested. "We could put a piano by the window right there-"

A thought suddenly popped into her head. "Just curious, what are we sleeping on?" she interrupted. "So far there's the couch, and I'm assuming at least one, decade-old mattress upstairs – neither sounds like a good choice for sleeping. On."

"Yes,that is, um...very good point, Evie." There had been a plan to stop somewhere for an air mattress or something, but he had gotten so overly excited as they finally neared their destination that he simply forgot. "We can go back to that city. It's what? - an hour away at best?"

Evie nodded, a little glum at the prospect of being cooped up in the SUV again, but the thought of sleeping on a disgusting surface was less than preferable.

They shuffled back into the car, driving in annoyed silence back to the city they had passed earlier that day, where Crane quickly located a mega-store.

The exhaustion from their days on the road suddenly hit them full-force; they wandered through the aisles like zombies, lazily knocking things they needed into the carts. Food, cleaning supplies, underwear – they decided they did not want to have to leave the house again for a few days at least. It wasn't until they reached the checkout area that they realized they had forgotten the one thing that had made this miserable trip for – a mattress.

"Wait here, I guess." Crane instructed. "I'll go back. Just...stay here. Please."

Evie nodded groggily and leaned against her cart, willing herself to stay awake long enough to make it to the car.

"Evie?"

She froze up at the sound of her name.

"Evie!" the voice sounded certain of her identity, but she didn't dare look around, and instead remained focused on the furniture.

Then came a tap on her shoulder. "Evie, hey!" She turned and looked up to see brown hair, freckles, a friendly, through unfamiliar smile.

She vaguely recognized him from school; he wasn't a friend of hers - more like a friend's friend...or maybe he had dated one of her friends for a minute? It was possible that he just sat next to her in some class. After a few seconds of thought, she was pretty sure his name was something like, Darrin or Darryl….

"It's me – Owen."

Or Owen. He was only an acquaintance, after all.

"I almost didn't recognize you without all your hair – it looks great though!"

_I'm sorry, you have the wrong person_ – the phrase she kept telling herself to say, but nothing came out. She just stared at him, wide-eyed, like a deer in headlights.

"Jeez Eve," her vaguely-remembered acquaintance rambled on. "Did you know everyone thinks you're dead? Like, they had a funeral for you and everything dead. Page in the yearbook dead. Do you live here now?"

"You have the wrong person." Evie's voice shook as she said it, and she could tell Owen didn't believe it.

"Are you being serious right now? Come one, Evie – we were in like half each others classes."

"Look – I don't know you." her voice sounded stronger this time, thank god. This seemed to hurt Owen, and he backed up a bit.

"Whatever." he said dejectedly. "Just know that a lot of people really miss you, Eve. I hope whatever you left them for is worth it."

He turned away, stomping past Crane to get away from her.

"Who was that?"

"No one." she quickly lied. "Just some creep who wanted my number." Evie didn't want him to worry. Things were just getting settled, and normal – they were at a store shopping for towels and kitchenware for fucks sake – things were getting _better._ They were supposed to stay better, and she knew that wouldn't happen if Crane felt their identities were compromised. That boy from her class wasn't going to do anything, probably wouldn't even tell anyone – so what was the point? She smiled brightly and slipped her hand into his. "Do we need anything else?"

"Um, no." Crane looked at her quizzically. It wasn't the sort of expression that let her know that he knew she was lying – it was just...strange.

One thing that nagged at the back of her mind during the drive home was how Owen had said her parents held a funeral for her. Was it easier for them that way? To think she was dead instead of off in the world doing god-knows-what with god-knows-who? Or to have something to say when people asked where she was? It must have been very difficult for them to bury an empty casket, never knowing what happened to her.

She didn't know this, of course, but they actually did believe her dead. Crane had never sent her goodbye tape that would have let them know otherwise.

Because that would have been the most asinine move he could have possibly made, a needless and annoying complication. What parent wouldn't go searching for their missing daughter after getting a _video confirmation_ that they were alive somewhere? The night Evie disappeared, she had been out alone, after dark, and after curfew – which wasn't so much a formal law as it was the people of Gotham recognizing that you were more likely to be shot for sport after a certain time – her parents might have been in denial for a few days, but since the dust settled on the cities freedom and she had still not returned, burying the memory of her was their only option.

The fact that the city was freed was also news to her. Did Crane know? Was he keeping that information from her? This thought upset her more than anything; she felt like she had significantly proved that she could be trustworthy to him. Had she done something wrong?

Crane looked tired, but unfettered – she could tell at the very least that Owen was not on his mind – though that wasn't to say that it wouldn't be brought up later. She wished she knew what he was thinking, so she would never have to upset him, and things could stay nice and pleasant between them always. He wasn't so terrible, really, she had actually really come to like him a lot. Evie had definitely enjoyed their morning together – getting to their house (their house!), hearing him talk about Victor's origins – her body filled with warmth at how he had suggested a room specifically for her hobbies. Truly, before her brush with Owen, she had really felt like Crane had come to like her a lot too, and suddenly Evie felt very silly over letting a boy she hardly remembered make her doubt her feelings. Of course Crane would tell her if he knew the revolution in Gotham was over. How could he know, really? She had been beside him on every step of their journey across the country – there was just no way.

Satisfied, she leaned back into her seat. Everything was still just as fine as it had been before. Things were getting better. They would stay better. They had to.


	12. Chapter 13

**Hey. Sorry this story's been really infrequent this month but you know, life and whatever. I was actually pretty close to giving up on it - I've had the ending plotted out for a while and was trying to figure out how I could ram it all home in like 2 chapters, but I managed to come up with more ~things~ so I won't feel all disappointed in myself for cheating the story. This chapter has the return of superdarkabusivefucker Crane so TW's all around I guess.**

**Who wants to hear a super lame joke about this chapter though?**

_**Knock knock**_

_**Who's there**_

_**Evie**_

_**Evie who?**_

_**Exactly.**_

**hahahaha Don't judge me my brain is so fried right now.**

**TW for dissociation and noncon**

* * *

Gladys did return to their front porch, as predicted, with pecan squares rather than muffins, and an eagerness to see the inside of the house that had remained empty for so long. Crane was upstairs, so Evie invited her in, guiding her to their still-sunflower-speckled breakfast nook. She poured each of them a glass of milk and sat down.

"Well, you have a lot of work to do in here." Gladys mused.

"Yeah...yeah." Evie fidgeted a little in her seat. "Would you happen to know a good contractor?"

"Yes! There is a man down the road named Nick – he redid our bathroom last year, pretty much fixes everything for everyone around here."

"Cool. Maybe you can pass along his number later on today?"

"We could also walk there right now, you know." Gladys chuckled.

Evie laughed along nervously. "Yeah, maybe later."

"How long have you have this house?"

Evie shrugged. "Victor's had it for a while, I guess."

"Before you two met?"

"Yes, definitely before that." Evie felt grossly uncomfortable. She felt like Gladys was fishing, but she wasn't sure what about.

"You two make kind of an odd pair – how old are you?" The way Gladys managed to keep up her smile while eating was not helping the oddness of the situation.

"Twenty-three?" she actually couldn't remember if it was twenty-two or twenty-three, but it wasn't as if Gladys was going to request to see her fake birth certificate.

"Victor seems quite a bit older, am I wrong?"

"No. He is." Evie's mouth went dry. She didn't like these questions.

"I was in a relationship with a much older man once." Gladys set her half-eaten pecan square down. "It didn't...end well. With older men there's always that imbalance of power, you know? You always feel like you have to prove like you aren't like the other people your age – that you're worth his time because your more mature, like him."

Evie nodded.

"I'm gonna be very strait with you - there's something just not right with a man who finds himself attracted to someone half his age."

If only she knew my real age, Evie thought, holding back a snort.

"How long have you known Victor, anyways?"

"Um, a while, I guess?" She was getting annoyed by Gladys' company. "Look, I'm sorry about your...relationship experiences – but its just not like that with us."

Gladys smiled at her piteously in a way that said "of course it's not, dear", and finished off her glass of milk. "Well, I feel like I've worn out my welcome for the day." She stood up. "Nick Greene lives on 1125 Pinecrest Street." She snatched up her coat and left.

Well, that had been a disaster. Evie used to be much better at improvising lies. She stared blankly at the casserole dish of baked goods Gladys had left behind for a few minutes, until she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"What are those?" Crane asked.

"Pecan squares." Evie answered dully. "Gladys brought them over." She noticed Crane's eyes resting on the empty glass across from her.

"You let her in?"

"Um, yeah. I didn't know whether I should or not." She laughed nervously. "Probably not – she really isn't as friendly as she thinks she is."

Crane shrugged. "Well, don't invite her in anymore."

"She did give me the address of a contractor though."

"An address?"

Evie nodded. "I guess he lives like a block away."

"Oh." Crane thought for a second. "Why don't you go over right now and ask when he's available?"

"Alone?"

"Sure." This would be the perfect test of trust he needed for reassurance. A definite determining factor in where he would plan to go with her from here. "Go ahead and leave now, and when you get back we can head out to do some furniture shopping or something."

Still full of uncertainty, Evie stood up and left the kitchen, grabbing her coat off of the chair in the living room and zipping it up on her way out the door. It was hours before sunset, the neighborhood was relatively small...she wouldn't get lost from a trip down the block, hopefully. Evie trudged to the end of the street, glancing back at the house a few times and wondering if Crane was watching her. She rounded the corner, onto Pinecrest Steet like Gladys said. Now the house was completely out of view, and she felt as nervous as ever.

She began to concentrate very hard on the snow, the soft, wet crunch of it under her boots. The snow would be melting in Gotham soon – she wondered when spring would thaw here.

1125 led to her to a large log house, definitely a structure more suited for a mountain lake house. Evie took a deep breath and walked up the pathway to the door and rang the bell. A tall man in his mid-20's, with bright red hair answered. She wasn't expecting to come across anyone young here – even just from her people-watching through the windows it seemed pretty clear that most of the neighborhood was pretty much made up of retiree's and empty-nesters. The man smiled widely down at her, and Evie felt herself blush a little.

"Um," she began nervously. She felt so nervous and wished Crane was there with her. "I'm looking for Nick Greene?"

"That's me." Nick's smile receded into a normal grin. He leaned against the door frame, crossing his heavily freckled arms in front of his chest. "What can I do for you?"

"Sorry. I don't know why, but for whatever reason I expected someone older."

"If you had come to this door a few years ago when my dad lived here, you would've been right."

"Um, anyway." Evie tried to compose herself. "My husband and I just moved in on Edgewood, and Gladys told me you...fix things." Nice.

"Edgewood, huh? Who moved out?"

"No one?"

Nick's eyes widened. "No way. You guys actually _live_ in that beat up Victorian?"

Evie nodded, a little confused about his sudden excitement.

"What's your name?"

"Darcy." She began to feel more comfortable and confident introducing herself now.

"Do you believe in fate, Darcy?" he asked. "Because that place has been a dream project on my list since I was kid, I'm not even joking."

"Does that mean you'll do it?"

"Definitely, yeah. I'm wrapping up a project so it'll be a couple weeks, but I'm sure Gladys already talked me up and told you I'm quality – I swear you won't be able find anyone who does work half as nice as mine around here."

"That sounds fine, I guess." Evie shrugged.

"Great." He said. "I'll be over in a few days so we can get the ball rolling. What's your husbands name?"

"Victor." She answered.

"Victor and Darcy – wow those names really mesh together, don't they?" He stuck out his hand, it practically enveloped her completely as he shook it. "It was great meeting you, Darcy. Welcome to the neighborhood."

"Thanks." Evie smiled back at him before turning around and heading home. That went well, right? Certainly much better than her earlier interaction with Gladys.

Crane was ready to leave when she got home. They got in the suv together, and talked almost the whole way into town.

This was so nice – Evie could really get used to being Darcy. Darcy was about to start living it up in a charming house on the lake, with a husband who, by all rights, had never mistreated her. Crane's demeanor had definitely seemed to change when they left the city as well. Maybe this had really been meant to be for them.

* * *

It was great to be Darcy. Darcy knew nothing of Evie's dark days. Victor had never been cruel to Darcy, the way Crane had been to Evie. Victor loved Darcy.

And Darcy loved Victor.

Darcy loved waking up next to him, handing him his glasses from the nightstand as she kissed him good morning. She loved sipping coffee with him in the breakfast nook, the window cracked open to let in the scent of the rain, and talking with him about the many ways they planned to fix the house up. She loved holding hands with him on their new, plush red couch, and watching him read. She loved his mannerisms and facial expressions when he was thinking and the way he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Darcy had never felt so happy, so light and free and wonderful. Things were really falling into place.

Except Victor was still Crane, and Crane was distracted. Ever since he had poisoned Evie to aide in their escape from Gotham, it was almost all he could think about. Resuming his work, discovering new things. He had missed it so, but Evie was attached to the point that she was very rarely away from him. She had become very fragile now, delicate, and he doubted she could handle the nature of his work without serious repercussions. Keeping new experiments in secrecy would cause her to become very morose and insistent if she ever found out.

Maybe someday, he told himself. He could devise some sort of training to desensitize her toward his experiments so she could serve as an assistant, he was sure. Later. For now, he locked away all his data books and the remnants of his greatest achievements into a safe at the back of the closet.

Sometimes he found himself wishing he had made the early days last a little longer, he missed seeing the fear in her eyes when he entered a room, her adorable panicking as she desperately attempted to avoid his punishment.

This was still nice though; everything was easy now, comfortable. Out of Arkham, out of Blackgate, out of Gotham – no worries at all, a future wide open with opportunity to slip back into his old practices. It would just take a little time and a bit more patience, nothing he couldn't handle.

Meanwhile, Evie was slipping further away from herself. She spent an increasing amount of time thinking about Darcy's life, and her past. Darcy could be anything Evie had ever wanted to be. She could be kind and optimistic and sociable. Or maybe Darcy's story was more of strength and confidence – a scrapper left alone in the world who found her own way to better things. Evie loved the idea of being a different person more and more each day, trying to incorporate each new thing she "learned" about Darcy into herself little by little. Faking it always starts to feel like the real thing eventually.

Evie loved making new hobbies and favorites and memories for herself. It had become so soothing to her, forgetting herself and her hardships. One thing that wasn't coming to her, however, was how Darcy and Victor would meet. She had put so much time into lovingly crafting the way they interacted and felt about each other that she felt they deserved something very storybook, but nothing ever seemed to come to mind. Later, she told herself, she had nothing but time now, after all.

At the end of their day, they always relaxed together in their room. She would sit on the chair in front of the window while Crane was reading or writing, and sometimes they would talk some more. Nick was due to start working on their house in a couple days, so tonight Crane was finishing up the final details of their requests.

"What did we want for the room down the hall?" Crane asked.

Darcy shrugged. She didn't remember.

"I want to say guest room, or is that downstairs?"

"Maybe it could be a nursery." Darcy suggested.

Crane froze. "What?"

"Well not now, of course," she explained, "it can be a guest room or whatever for now – but in a year or two, maybe, you know?"

This was not even close to what he had expected. Evie's behavior had shifted so radically since they had moved, it was absolutely insane. Really, there just didn't seem to be any logical or possible way this could happen; it had to be a trick. Could she be challenging him? Attempting to confuse him by going all-out in her Darcy dream-world spiel, hoping to suck him inside of it as well. "If it makes you happy." he smiled weakly.

She smiled back and then hugged him warmly, before launching into a talk about color schemes – what could they do the room up in now that would transition into a baby room without much effort and such. One would have never guessed that Crane had found her dead-eyed in front of a piano just weeks before, practically crying as she told him how she didn't want children anymore, especially not with him. She was good. It would have been impressive in he hadn't been so angry, which was being made worse each time Evie called him "Victor". She was using it so incessantly, it almost seemed like she said it at the end of every sentence. It grated on him each time the name left her lips. She was teasing him, mocking him, and he couldn't stand it.

"Stop calling me that!" He suddenly hissed. Darcy paused. "It's Jonathan – Jonathan fucking Crane – and you know that. We're alone, Evie, so what are you playing at?"

Darcy shuffled in place a little, staring at the floor with new found interest. She didn't know how to respond.

"Jesus _fucking _Christ, Evie – I don't even know what to do with you right now." Crane shook his head, running a hand through his hair and he tried to find a solution to just that.

She frowned, her expression confused, so annoyingly innocent now. "It's Darcy." she mumbled.

He suddenly snapped, and his hands were around her throat. Crane's heart pounded loudly in his ears. She scratched at his wrists as watched her eyes well up with tears, promptly dropping her to the floor once her eyes had closed.

Crane crouched down, gingerly tilting her head upwards. Evie was still conscious, if only just barely. He hoisted her up, positioning her so she was bent over the bed, and yanked her pants down. She was dry, this would hurt them both, but he didn't care, and forced himself inside her anyway. Evie needed to remember how this all began. That he was in control - _always_ in control - and she needed to remember her place. Crane had made the mistake of getting a little too comfortable with her, and allowing her so many liberties since leaving Gotham must have had her feeling brave again. This was a beneficial lesson for them both, he supposed.

At first, Darcy was only vaguely aware that her insides hurt, something had torn its way into her. It stung a lot. There were hands on her waist, heavy breathing against her neck. Her neck – that hurt too. She knew that breathing, and those hands – she remembered them wrapped around her throat minutes before – and she started to cry. She didn't understand. Darcy loved Victor, and Victor loved Darcy. Victor wouldn't hurt Darcy. This couldn't be happening.

But somehow it was, and she just didn't understand. Had she done something wrong? Didn't he love her anymore? So many sad thoughts filled her mind, but all that came out was her pathetic sobbing into the mattress.

Crane put his arm under her, the slight incline of her hips allowing him to go deeper until it hurt. Her body convulsed with each thrust, trying to reposition itself, but his grip on her was too firm to allow it. He finished quickly enough, pulling his pants back up and leaving the room without a single word to her, no explanation or false attempt at comfort. Darcy hitched up her jeans and crawled the rest of the way onto the bed, trying to make sense of what had happened. She felt so lost and scared and broken, and couldn't even begin to wonder how she would ever recover from it.

Darcy couldn't shake the feeling that this scene was something familiar – like she had felt this kind of pain before. Somewhere, in some dark recess of her mind, behind a door she didn't dare to open, this same anguish had been known to her, though Darcy couldn't imagine how. Not half an hour ago her life was so beautiful and happy and promising; Victor loved her so much and all she had been trying to do was tell him she wanted a family.

She just didn't understand. Victor loved Darcy and Darcy loved Victor. This wasn't supposed to happen. She loved Victor and he loved her. This couldn't have happened. She didn't understand. They were in love.


	13. Chapter 14

**Sorry for the long wait. Between finals, a new job, and moving I was too fried to write much - but the school year is almost up, thank fuck - which means I can start posting consistently again.**

* * *

He didn't come back. After hours of remaining motionless, curled up on the bed in pain and disbelief, Darcy finally found the strength to get up and leave the room she heard noise coming from the attic. She hoped he would stay up there for a while, while she sorted through these feelings of terror and confusion and helplessness.

She went downstairs and to the closet, quickly pulling on her jacket and boots and going outside. The snow was iced down, making the ground slick and dangerous as she carefully made her way down to the edge of the lake. Darcy stared very hard at the frozen surface, contemplating the severity in pain between drowning in the lake or going back to the house to face Victor. Neither was entirely preferable, really. Drowning is supposed to be a terrible way to die, but then again so is dying at the hands of an abusive husband.

Except Victor was obviously losing it – insisting they weren't Darcy and Victor was pretty damning evidence of going off the deep end. He wasn't himself; he didn't mean it. He would snap out, she was sure, and then he would need her, his Darcy.

These thoughts made her feel a bit better, but were quickly replaced with dread as she heard the crunch of someone's footsteps behind her. Darcy wasn't ready to deal with Victor just yet. Not even close.

"Hey!"

But then Darcy turned and saw Nick walking down to her, his hair a flame against the snow around him. His smile flickered when he saw her face.

"Jeez you look like hell." Nick turned red with embarrassment the instant the words left his mouth. "Ah, shit. I mean – you look a little...worse for wear?"

Darcy shrugged. "I had a rough night."

"Oh...you and Victor ok?"

"I don't know." she replied monotonously. "I'm sure it'll work itself out. It always does." At least, that's what she told herself always happened for them.

Nick shifted around awkwardly. "It's probably a little unprofessional of me to ask, but, you know, we're all neighbors here – do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really much to talk about. I told him I was thinking about us starting a family, and he," Darcy hesitated, trying to find the words that wouldn't let on too much, "didn't react the way I thought he would."

"Well that sucks." Nick said. "Didn't you guys ever talk about that sort of thing before?"

"Not at length, I suppose. I guess we just both had that mentality where we would cross that bridge when we came to it."

"Really?" he seemed incredulous. "I've had the serious 'starting a family' conversation with chicks I dated two months. How long have you guys been together?"

"A few years."

"Definitely beats my record." Nick mumbled. "Well I'm sure things will turn out fine for you guys."

Darcy nodded.

"Wanna head up to the house with me? I actually came over for a reason."

"No. Just let yourself in." she said. Nick's odd, yet earnest effort to comfort her was actually a little grating. Her mind was a million miles away and she simply didn't have anything in her to deal with him. Too far gone to appreciate the gesture, or even feel guilty about not appreciating it. Eventually, he turned around and went back uphill to the house, leaving Darcy again to her silence. She shoved her hands deep in her pockets, watching her breath materialize in front of her.

* * *

Nick knocked on the door first, of course, but after a minute or so with no answer, he let himself in. Victor was probably off in some corner of the house, brooding the way Darcy was by the lake. He should have just came the next day. Dealing with unhappy spouses during renovations was the absolute worst.

"Victor?" He called out hesitantly. "Hey man, it's Nick – I thought maybe we could finalize the plans for this place today?"

He was greeted with more silence, but then heard faint creaking coming from someplace upstairs, and patiently waited until Victor appeared at the top of the stairs. He was no where near in the same shape as Darcy – looking more frustrated than morose.

"Do you need something?" Victor asked harshly.

Something about the tone of his voice made Nick's mouth go dry. "I can come back tomorrow if this is a bad time."

Crane shook his head. "No, it's fine." he sighed, the dark expression on his features receding somewhat. "Did Darcy let you in? Where did she go?"

"Darcy's outside, actually – she told me to just come in."

Crane shot a very annoyed look out the window. "Oh." he said stiffly.

"You guys seem to be having a little...trouble."

"She's just lonely – she'll be over it in a week." Crane walked around the room until he found a window that allowed him a clear view of Evie, just standing there.

Fair enough, Nick thought. He set his books down on the coffee table and sat down.

"Are you doing what you love, Nick? Are you happy with your life?"

Nick shrugged. "I mean, yeah – I've been doing the kind of work I wanted to do my whole life."

"That's a very lucky thing." Crane murmured. Evie was very still on the lakes edge. "I've been...somewhat distracted, from the work I loved for the last several years. I'd very much like to get back in the habit, but I'm at a bit of a loss for how." Nothing about resuming his old work would be easy, from gathering subjects to remaining discretion and secrecy within such a small, gossipy place.

"You're just holding yourself back by over-thinking it."

There was some amusing and thoroughly unhelpful insight. Over-thinking assured security, loose ends tied and accounted for. Over-thinking had gotten him and Evie safely out of Gotham and into a new life with fairly little trouble. True, over-thinking had also forced him back into that odd, gray area with Evie. That would be simple to salvage, however, where there would be no simple strategies within the world of illegal experimentation. Not over-thinking it was definitely terrible advice for his situation, but Crane played along. "Perhaps I am." the corners of his lips twitched into a smirk.

"I mean, you seem like the kind of guy who knows something about drive, focus, you know? You got good money saved, you dress yourself well, seem really educated and stuff, got a hot, young wife. Obviously you know a thing or two about accomplishment, and you've done a few things right with your life."

Of course, through over-thinking. This boy was so simple, so privileged. Crane could tell Nick had never really had to fight for what he wanted in his life. What would he know of drive and focus? Crane was not less annoyed and incredibly annoyed.

"Thank you, Nick. I'm going to talk to Darcy now." He walked stiffly across the living room to the entryway. Crane didn't bother with his coat – this wouldn't take long. The cold air washed over him as he trudged down the small hill to Evie. She flinched as he stopped to stand next to her, he could feel her looking at him, mildly terrified. Crane had to admit, he sort of missed this dynamic. There had been such a sense of power that went with it – it had been what drew him to create this situation with her to begin with.

"Are you finished sulking?"

Darcy gathered up all her strength ask "Why did you do that to me?" Her voice shook terribly. She turned her gaze back to the lake, refusing to look at him, hoping to hear lies about how stressed he was, that he didn't mean it and he was sorry. Things she knew she wouldn't believe if she could see his face.

"Why are you pretending that I've never done it to you before, Evie?"

"Don't call me that." She hissed back. "Just tell me you didn't mean it – please." Darcy's eyes stung with tears. He was lying – she would remember such an awful thing being done to her more than once.

"The crying is definitely new for you – a very nice touch." Victor's voice sounded causal, as if he was discussing the weather, or something else much more mundane the conversation at hand. "You never cried before...well, you did a little the first time I met you, I guess. Remember that Evie? Our first time together?" He reach out, tucking a curl behind her ear, stroking her cheek with his finger. "You kept trying to squirm away, telling me how scared you were – it was almost like you were trying to turn me on." Crane chuckled. "God, I wanted you so bad...you were so charmingly pathetic. It was wonderful, and I just knew I had to keep you around. You were fun then – so scrappy and defiant – some days I truly thought I'd never wear you down."

Darcy stared at the ground, blushing furiously and gritting her teeth. What was he talking about? Why wasn't he stopping. She didn't want to hear these things anymore.

"I did wear you you down though, didn't I? I could see it in your eyes every time you struggled against me, only for me to win; a piece of you would just chip off and wither away." Darcy shivered, wishing Victor would stop talking to her like this. "You never cried though. It was like you thought you weren't really breaking, and I wasn't really winning, as long as you didn't cry."

But she was crying now, the cold stinging at her eyes and cheeks as the tears streaked down her face. Nothing he said was making any sense. Her body shook and convulsed as she fought to keep the sobs inside.

"Evie. Look at me Evie." Responding to the name felt like a slap, but she turned to face him anyway. His blue stare cut right through her."I don't care that you want to pretend to be someone else, but never forget who I am. Do you understand?"

She didn't, she really didn't, but Darcy nodded anyway. The conversation just needed to be over.

"We're going to go back to the house now." He took her hand, making her skin crawl. "You're going to act like everything is fine now. I really hope we've come to a better understanding." he kissed her forehead as well. "And I would hope you would be careful not to cause this problem again."

The dark tone of his voice felt like a knife twisting in her gut, and once again this was all starting to feel uncomfortably familiar. Darcy clenched her free hand until the pain from her fingernails digging into her skin distracted her from the thought, trailing behind Victor as he led them back to their house.


	14. Chapter 15

**YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I JUST WATCHED THE GOTHAM FINALE AND GOT SO FUCKING PUMPED OVER IT THAT I WROTE ANOTHER CHAPTER. **

**I'm thinking of making this sort of concept into a mini-series - villains as abusers and junk like that - which they totes are/would be in relationships. This has been such a satisfying little project and I really love the idea of doing it with more villains. Maybe Oswald next? He would be super fun to do - controlling and jealous with anger issues and stabbing people in the motherfucking street for looking at his boyfriend/girlfriend the wrong way.**

**TW for dissociation and self-harm**

* * *

The renovations began as planned.

Victor starting spending the majority of his time in the attic, or would drive off god-knows-where for several hours. Darcy had no idea what he could be doing on either venture, and had little interest in finding out. She was too grateful to not be spending more time with him than she had to. Sometimes she woke up to him sneaking things out of their safe – books and such – things that didn't seem important enough to be kept secret, but she kept these thoughts to herself.

Instead she spent her days sitting around in whatever room with Nick as he worked. Sometimes they talked – he would often ask what Victor was doing, what was in the attic – Darcy would shrug and say it was Victor's business; he had apparently found a hobby for himself and she didn't want to bother him. To be honest, Nick wasn't a very compelling nor interesting person to hold a conversation with, but she appreciated the company which kept those nagging feelings of confusion at bay, plus she was learning quite a bit about things like how to properly maintain hardwood floors and replacing plugs. It would most likely be up to her to take care of the house when it was fixed up – Victor had made it clear that once Nick was through he would rather not have people around unless it was absolutely necessary, which she supposed would include a housekeeper. Maybe she would learn to become one of those people who find chores therapeutic.

The kitchen was one of the biggest priorities. When it was time to paint, Darcy had to take down every sunflower picture, every floral plate and nick-knack adorning the walls and shelves. She carried them out to the garage, at first intending to shove them in a box to take to Goodwill, until one slipped from her grasp, shattering on the concrete. Darcy's eyes widened at the sound – why was it so...refreshing? She set them down for a moment, to close the door behind her, before she set to work smashing each and every one of the miserable, sunny chotchkies. Her heart raced at the satisfaction as they exploded into a million shards and splinters, releasing anger that she didn't know she possessed. When she was finished, she walked across the glass-strewn floor, imagining that each crunch under the heels of her boots belonged to Victor's glasses before leaving back to the house.

On the pathway, Darcy noticed Gladys staring at her from across the street, smiling that insufferably smug smile, like she knew anything about Darcy's life. She stared back at the woman warily before re-joining Nick in the kitchen. She offered to help paint, but she was shaking from her activities in garage, and as a result ended up with a lot more paint on herself than the wall. Nick looked at her strangely, clearly concerned, but didn't say anything about it.

But then came the end of each day. Nick would grab his tools and walk back to his home on Pinecrest, and Evie would be alone, panicking at every creak and shift the house made, wondering if it was Victor. Very rarely it was, and more often than not when those rare times arose he all but completely ignored her. His mind was always elsewhere, it seemed – always mumbling to himself, smelling strange, his hands and clothing sometimes bore black marks and his glasses would be askew on his face. Her vision flashed red whenever she saw him, vividly remembering the sound of the glass underneath her feet.

Their interactions were always brief, he called her Evie still, and sometimes told her things about "how she used to be". Darcy bit her tongue every time, developing habits like pinching herself, poking her thigh with her fork (if he happened to bother her while she was eating) every time that unwelcome familiar feeling crept up on her as he spoke. She needed to cause herself just enough pain to jar her away from those thoughts until Victor was finished. She hardly listened to what he said at all, really; just nodding, smiling, wondering how close she was to breaking the skin. It was surprising to remember that mere days before she had been happy to wake up to his face in the morning, to hold his hand while they had coffee or read books on the couch. Now every night he slithered into bed with her – hours after she had initially gone to sleep – all she felt was disgust for him and the things he had done to her, supposedly with absolutely no remorse. If Darcy were at all criminally savvy, she would sleep with a knife under her pillow and end it all before daybreak. Destroy whatever was in the attic, and burn the house down for good measure. So many things were keeping her back, however – fear, the little love she still managed to have for him, she had too much of a conscience. No, Darcy supposed she could never bring herself to kill him under any circumstance.

Noises came from the attic – she swore she heard laughter. For the first time she felt completely overcome with curiosity to see what was up there. To see what he was keeping from her, but she stayed in bed, shivering under the covers.

The next morning, Victor was still in bed when she woke up. It tugged at her hart in the worst way to see how calm he looked. She wished like she could pretend like nothing had changed – kiss him good morning and slip his glasses onto his face like she had before – Darcy actually got rather choked up at the thought, as she slipped out of bed and quickly dressed.

Nick had already let himself in and was busy staining the oak cabinets that Darcy hated.

"You slept in." He remarked.

"Did I?" Darcy checked the clock on the stove. It was almost 11. "Guess I did. Feels like I haven't even slept."

"Did you and Victor have a night of making up?" He glanced up from his work, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"Ha – no."

"Well that's a shame." Nick frowned. "Oh hey – I'm throwing a party for my folks on Saturday – you guys should come."

Darcy dumped out the coffee that had been automatically made at 6:30. "What kind of party?"

"30th anniversary party."

"Wow." She went to the cabinet and pulled out a packet of pop-tarts. "Good for them."

"I know, right? Lord knows I'll never beat that record."

Darcy snorted. "Me neither, probably."

"Eh, you guys will be fine."

She rolled her eyes, cramming the rest of the pastry into her mouth to keep herself from saying anything stupid, like how she thought Nick was just worried about getting paid to continue working on his "dream project house", and walked into the living room. What a tedious existence she was living. Darcy wandered into the room past the stairs.

The piano was there, untouched since the day the store delivered it. It looked so clean, so shiny and inviting. Darcy sat down on the stool and lifted the key cover. She set the metronome.

Scales. Simple ones. Numbers, fingers, notes.

C, D, E, F, G, A, B, C.

D, E, F sharp, G, A, B, C sharp, D.

E, F sharp, G sharp, A, B, C sharp, D sharp, E.

F, G, A, B flat, C, D, E, F.

Left hand : five, four, three, two, one, three two one.

Right hand : one, two, three. One, two three, four five.

Numbers, fingers, notes. Rearranged. She was playing something now. Something slow, moody and romantic. Snow and feathers across a stage. Darcy's heart was pounding in her ears as her fingers glided over the keys with no effort at all. She needed to stop. That feeling – it was happening again – that slow, cold terror filling up every inch of her, threatening to shatter everything she knew. The closed door in her mind rattled menacingly. She quickly stood up, hitting the backs of her knees so hard against the stool that they buckled under her. Something was pounding at that door, pushing it's way through – she couldn't let it. She didn't want to know what was behind it.

She didn't want to know.

Darcy knocked the metronome onto the floor, kneeling down next to it. She ripped the metal hand off and jammed it deep into her inner forearm. The shadows receded. She twisted, and the things behind the door fell silent. Her breathing was ragged and frantic. She waited a minute or two, to make sure the thoughts were really gone before slowly removing the metal stick from her arm, taking slow, measured breaths as she observed her blood streaming in a single, deep red rivulet down onto the floor.

That was quite enough.

Shaking, she picked herself up off the floor, yanking her sleeve down so she wouldn't get blood all over the floor as she made her way upstairs to the master bath.

Victor was awake, dressed, and sitting in the loveseat at the foot of their bed. Although he looked Darcy's way when she entered the room, she could tell he had been staring into their closet at their safe. Perhaps contemplating removing some other item from it. He quickly noticed the blood on her sweater, but remained silent as he watched her cross the room, remove her top, and thrust her arm underneath the cold spray of the sink, watching the pink water swirl down the drain with a detached sort of fascination.

There was a quiet understanding between them. Such strange things going on in their lives, things they didn't entirely understand, and didn't seem able to control.

Darcy turned off the sink, her arm throbbing in pain, still bleeding slightly, and walked to the closet, yanking a black sweater over her head so as to hide the blood. She would would bandage it up later. Victor's pale eyes followed her. It was more unsettling than it should have been – she wished he would either speak or leave. He did neither, and when she went to walk out the door herself he grabbed her wrist. Darcy clenched her teeth as he gently pushed up the sleeve of her sweater, tracing the small wound with his finger before looking up at here, locking her gaze for a moment or two. He sighed and let her go, listening to her footsteps down the hallway.

Crane saw the look on her face. He didn't like it, that lost, hollow look in her features. He was sick of that look. Sick of her taunting, pretending to be so clueless all the time. What was wrong with her? He sighed again as he stood up from his seat and headed toward the attic.

None of this would matter soon. Crane was going to set everything as it was. As it should be.


	15. Chapter 16

**It's sort of surprising how these last few chapters have felt like my best, even though I was just rushing like hell to wrap this up before finals. Chapter 17 will be the last, and you guys I honestly can't even believe it - I'm actually going to _finish_ something. Like holy shit. And then I'm going to edit the shit out of this bitch.**

**I've already started working a bit on the Oswald fic I talked about, and will put up the first couple chapters soon. I like the whole premise I came up with and everything, but it's been a little frustrating to work on because Gotham is still so new, and the fic doesn't really work within the first season. I like having little canonical tie-ins to work off of so I feel like I'm really going in blind here (esp considering things in the DC-verse can be radically different with each re-telling).**

**Anyway, enjoy this dramatic af chapter, and pray that I don't fail anything this week.**

* * *

Darcy couldn't seem to make up her mind on how exactly she felt about parties. Parties had free food though, and that in itself seemed reason enough to like them. An anniversary party probably involved a decent amount of cake as well – that would be a bonus.

But then she remembered how Gladys would be there, and would probably make some uncomfortable comment about how Victor wasn't with her, that would somehow tie in with a terrible something or other that happened to her when she was young. Nick would be there, but she felt she was spending too much time with Nick as it was. Plus Nick was boring, and he would be too busy playing host to keep her company at the party anyway. The allure of free food was seeming less and less enticing when pitted against dealing with people she didn't know or didn't like. It's not as if she didn't have her own food or anything, and Darcy could bake a whole damn cake for herself right now if she wanted. She kicked off her boots and wiggled out of the thick tights she had just put on, padding barefoot on the cold floor to the kitchen. It was quiet in the attic – for a minute she wondered if Victor was even in the house. She stopped by the window in the doorway and quickly peeked outside. Nope – the car was still in the driveway. Darcy sighed and turned back around.

She quickly realized that didn't actually feel like having cake. In fact, she didn't seem to have much of an appetite at all. After several moments of staring blankly into the fridge, she took an apple off the counter and sat down in the nook.

All was quiet on the street. Not one house was lit – they were all at Nick's party. Darcy breathed in the cold air that came in from the window, enjoying the refreshing coolness against her face. Her ears pricked up at the sound of a far-off creak somewhere within the house. Maybe Victor was finally coming down to eat something. She closed the window – he was always on her about opening it at night – and sat back down, tucking her legs underneath her. Footsteps could be heard upstairs now, the faint squeak of his shoes against the hardwood made her nervous. She should have just gone to the party. Darcy was so used to not seeing him around – especially at night – and feared that he might go on another one of his "Evie" ramblings. Her arm briefly pulsed with pain at the thought of her last brush with the door.

Shifting the apple from hand to hand, Darcy closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she heard him reach the bottom of the stairs, and walk toward the kitchen.

There came the obvious question. As he stood in the doorway. "Why aren't you at the party?"

Darcy shrugged. "I didn't really feel like going." she replied.

"Fair enough." Victor approached the table, taking the seat across from her. "How is that...cut you got the other day feeling?"

"It's fine." she didn't like the way he smirked when he said the word "cut". He knew she was losing it just as badly as he was. Darcy took a bite of her apple, the loud crunch briefly filling the silence between them.

She decided to be polite. "What did you do all day?"

"Same old, same old." he answered vaguely. He took off his glasses and set them down on the table. "Evie."

Darcy bit her tongue at the name and tasted copper.

"Would you look at me, please, Evie?"

Reluctantly, she complied.

For the first time in what felt like a very long time, Victor appeared rather benevolent. He really was beautiful in such a strange way, and it was interesting and mildly terrifying how a face so fair and pleasing could just as easily become the source of ones nightmares, twisted into something austere and almost monstrous. Her breath hitched in her throat as he smiled at her – a smile that went all the way up to his clear blue eyes that made Darcy's hearth clench in the worst way – reaching across the table and taking her hand.

"I think it's time that we...clear the air, so to speak." he said. "We've been a little directionless lately. It's time for that to change." He was still being rather unclear, which made Darcy nervous. She wished they could have a normal interaction for once.

Victor slowly stood up, pulling her up with him, and led her out of the kitchen. Up the stairs, down the hallway, past their bedroom – it took much longer than she would have cared to admit to realize where he was taking her: the attic. He let go of her hand to unlock a door, motioning her forward and up a flight of narrow stairs.

A sliver of light shone from underneath the door, and in the moment it was almost entrancing, beckoning her forward. This was it – all the secrecy, the explanation for Victor's odd behavior inches away from her – but this all felt very strange, and wrong. Overwhelmingly strange and wrong, actually, to the point where it all but completely eclipsed Darcy's curiosity. She saw her hand outstretched to the door, fingers numb and twitching, but hesitated. She glanced behind her and saw Victor, completely blocking the stairway and smiling at her reassuringly.

The doorknob felt icy against her palm. She slowly turned it.

The attic was separated into two rooms, although it was missing the door between them. This one held a desk, a chair…Darcy spotted all those books and binders Victor had been sneaking out of their safe, among other things. A dozen different smells burned at her nostrils from the other room – some cloyingly sweet, other metallic, others still were reminiscent of that burning smell she constantly caught off her husband. She continued forward, hearing the door click behind her.

In the next room was some sort of lab, which was equally meticulous as the first room. Darcy didn't get it – this didn't really seem to be a secret-worthy activity, but then she spotted a small box in the corner. She walked over to it and peered inside to see that it contained several bags full of a powdered substance. Ingredients? Drugs? The existence of this room in general didn't make any sense – Victor was a computer geek, not a chemist. Darcy was bursting with questions, only to be stunned into silence when she turned around.

The wall separating the rooms was covered in writing. Not so much writing as names. Two names. "Evie" was written over and over again, sometimes normally and others looking like they had been furiously scribbled down, alongside "Jonathan Crane". She recognized that name too. Victor had used that name once – claimed to be him, actually – right before he strangled and raped her. Coming to the attic was indeed proving to be the wrong venture. Victor stood and stared at her from the door-less doorway, patiently awaiting her final reaction.

"What it all this?" She finally managed to ask, her voice practically a whisper.

Victor approached her calmly. "This is my next step, Evie – and I want you to be a bigger part in it."

Darcy felt rooted to the spot, each of his footfalls sending her heart racing.

"I'm sorry, but I missed this work too much – it was completely asinine to think I could avoid this for the rest of my life." Victor stopped in front of her, taking her limp hands in his own. "I'm just done doing this with you Evie." He licked his lips, smiling. "we aren't cut out to continue this weird domestic charade – I know deep down you agree with me. I want things like they were before – I want your anger again, your complete contempt for me."

Darcy's eyes narrowed as she summoned all the strength she could in order to speak again. "Don't you know? I'm already there." she hissed.

He laughed. It went on for an uncomfortably long period of time. He gripped her wrists tightly. "Not even close, Evie." he said darkly. "Remember when there used to be a side of you that slapped me every time I touched you, that cut off all your Goldilocks hair because I told you it was beautiful? You hated me," he spat, "so much – and it was the best part of you, the best thing about any of this.

You drove me up a fucking wall with your defiance and I loved it. I loved it so much, Evie. You didn't care who I was or about the consequences – you were a player then, and I loved the game we were playing."

His voice made her body shiver and hair bristle. She didn't like what was going on, not all all. She needed out of this place.

"Evie." he said. "Won't you say something?"

Darcy yanked her wrists out of his grasp. "I just want you...to stop calling me that." she meant for the words to come out as a snarl, but instead it was more of a whimper. Pathetic, but nonetheless, Victor seemed...stunned.

It suddenly clicked for Crane, now staring at her in complete disbelief.

"I can't even believe this. You actually….snapped." his expression became sort of pained, as if he were struggling to decide whether to laugh or scream. She saw him bite his tongue, momentarily at a loss for words in the middle of his villain-esque monologue. "Darcy…Darcy isn't real. For fuck's sake, Evie – I stitched the name together out of old obituaries – Darcy Lynne Thomas? Really?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "How can you even think any of this is real – there must be a maddening number of gaps in your mind over this." He looked over to Darcy, who was still just standing there, like an idiot.

"Where are your memories of our old life? Hasn't it struck you as rather odd that we don't seem to have anyone – no friends or family to speak of. For fuck's sake, where are the pictures?" Victor shouted angrily. "What married couple has _no_ pictures?" Darcy let the words wash over her, hardy hearing a thing, presently distracted with the unwelcome re-appearance of The Door. It creaked and groaned, threatening to unhinge itself and release whatever darkness resided there.

He sighed, looking rather defeated. "Well I'm not going to lie, Evie, this is a big fucking disappointment."

And then his head snapped back at her, he briskly walked over to her, grabbing her hand and dragging her to the other room. "You do react when I use the name Evie, though. I've noticed that – it's more than confusion. She's in there, somewhere, of course. Has to be." He pushed into the chair, then place both palms on the desk next to her. "What have you been feeling when I call you Evie?"

Darcy hesitated, but Crane was in no mood – when she failed to answer quick enough, he slammed his hands on the table, causing her to flinch hard in her chair. "What do you feel – what do you think about – when I call you 'Evie'?" His voice was too much calm to match his actions.

"Nervous, I guess?" she began shakily. "It's familiar, but it feels like you're talking about someone who died rather than speaking to me." When she was finished talking, she bit her cheek – hard – and noted with undeserved satisfaction when The Door fell silent.

Crane nodded. He shifted his stance and knelt down in front of her, suddenly grabbing her arm and pushing up the sleeve. "And where this fit in?"

Darcy didn't have an answer. Not one she would like to admit, anyway. She struggled to keep The Door out of her mind.

"The other day, you played a song on the piano – what was it?"

"I don't know." she answered blankly. Darcy recalled the dramatic melody, but couldn't put a name to it.

"But I do." he murmured, his fingers running down her inner forearm. "Pas de Duex, from Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker. You played it for me, in Gotham. You told me it was your favorite, and that you and your family saw it in the theater every year for Christmas. I promised to take you this year."

"You played that song," he said it a bit more forcefully, almost accusingly, "– a song that means so much to Evie – and not five minutes later, you walk up with this," Crane pressed the pad of this thumb against the scab, Darcy winced. "obviously self-inflicted wound. What caused you to do this?"

As he stared intensely up at her, Darcy sort of felt herself leaving her body – going to some sort of in-between place where this all felt less threatening, where the hostile familiarity and The Door couldn't reach her. "When I think about Evie," she began, her voice sounding very far-off as she struggled to keep herself in this calm, dream-like state, "I sort of picture...this door. I don't know what's behind it – I always get this sense that I'm better off not knowing – but if I think about it too hard, something tries to push through."

Crane nodded. "And the cut?"

"A distraction."

"When you're confronted by the door, how do you feel?"

After a long pause, Darcy answered. "Terrified." she breathed.

That was the word he had been hoping to hear. Crane smiled and closed his eyes.

He knew exactly

how he could open

such a door.


	16. Chapter 17

**Here it is! The final chapter for Plaything. Fuck, I've never actually completed a fic before, how exciting! So proud of me.**

**At first this was a little late getting posted, but only because I wanted to put it up with all my edits and rewrites, and I knew posting the ending first would have left me seriously un-motivated to make the changes I wanted. During some points while writing Plaything, I was so obsessed with putting up just whatever I had so I wouldn't fall behind, and as a result I let out some pretty lazy writing, but last month I replaced about 6-7 chapters.**

**Then this chapter became late because there was a death in my family and things were all very busy and terrible for a while.**

**Better late than never? Thanks for reading!**

**~Lilli S.**

**TW for death**

* * *

It had been a strange and terrifying few hours. Victor paced back and forth across the attic, mumbling to himself, flipping through his binders, writing things down. Darcy watched him, still in the chair – he yelled at her if she moved to much, or attempted to get up from it. She couldn't really imagine what this could all be leading up to, but the odds of it being anything pleasant seemed slim to none.

He leaned against the table next to her, staring wistfully off at the wall.

"For what it's worth, I am actually very sorry for some of the things I've put you through." he admitted. "I was so selfish, and indecisive – too concerned with the toying with you, pushing your limits – I see know how unfair I was, and it was all for nothing, really. Right from the start you were just...exactly what I needed." He shook his head, closing his eyes. His Evie, with the fire in her eyes and poison in her voice.

"I'm just not sure what exactly do you think is behind The Door." Darcy said uncertainly. "It doesn't feel like...a person."

"No, behind that door is Evie. You don't want it opened because she knows everything. She'll ruin everything for you.

You, Darcy, know Victor – who you probably think of as your husband who is going insane. Evie knows the truth – she knows Jonathan." He smiled. "Jonathan, who had hurt her, kept her from her family, and hurt her some more."

Darcy was too tired to process this. She could already feel herself dozing off in her chair, but how stupid would that be? This was not a safe situation for one to fall asleep during.

But she was jerked awake by a loud thud that come from downstairs. Perhaps a neighbor at the door, coming to check on them after they failed to attend the party. God, people are so nosy out in the middle of no where. Crane heard it too, his body stiff, expression annoyed. He walked over to table across from Darcy, slipping a couple glass tubes of something into his pocket before approaching her, yanking her up from her seat.

The walk downstairs seemed much longer than it should have been – Darcy's mind and body felt like they were on autopilot as Crane pulled her with him, maintaining such a firm grip on her arm that it would probably leave a mark.

He went to their walkway, peering behind the curtains. The porch was empty.

Darcy glanced behind her as Crane opened the door and scanned the area outside their house, and noticed a figure in the darkness of their living room, slowly moving toward them. She wasn't even fazed – what could possibly make this night worse for her? As he drew closer, his features became a bit clearer, and Darcy realized it was a boy. A teenager.

Darcy stared at the boy. Didn't she know him from somewhere? Her head hurt.

The stranger held up a finger to his lips and drew up a gun. Darcy gasped audibly – she couldn't help it. Crane turned and spotted him, crossing the room with surprising swiftness before knocking the kid onto the ground. The boy held tight to the gun though, squeezing off a shot that rang sharply through the house. His aim was much too high, though, the bullet embedding itself into the wooden railing upstairs and sending a shower of splinters above Darcy's head.

She stared at the boy, who kicked and thrashed around while Crane attempted to wrestle the firearm from his grip.

"Evie, run!" the boy exclaimed.

Both Crane and Darcy paused. She began to wonder if this was some setup to a cruel joke. He wondered how this boy knew Evie. How had he found them? The moment of thought cost him, as the boy took the chance to wiggle out from underneath him, and was now standing in front of his with a gun as he was still stupidly kneeling on the floor.

"Get up." The boy hissed. "Go sit on the fucking couch. Keep your hand out."

Crane complied, slowly rising to his feet and walking toward the couch. He glanced over to Evie – still standing by their doorway with a clearly confused expression on her face. Her eyes were wide with panic as she met his stare, and he offered her a calm smile.

The boy turned to her as well, as Crane took his seat. "Evie. I told you to get out."

"Who..." Darcy struggled to find her voice, to clear her mind enough to even know what to say to this person. "Just...who the fuck are you?"

His previously determined expression wavered as the boy answered her. "It's me – Owen Woods. I saw you at the store in Spokane a few weeks ago."

Crane was angry upon hearing this, remembering that exact instance – Evie had lied to him. She had put their new identities and lives on the line because of it. However, he also saw the promise in the current situation – perhaps talking to this...person from her past would jog something loose in Evie's mind. That would definitely help, and was certainly less invasive than his plan for her. He would let the boy yammer on to her for a while, figure out what to do with him in the meantime.

"I'm sorry." Darcy replied. "That...doesn't mean anything to me."

Owen was clearly losing control of his plan, and the realization angered him. "What the fuck happened to you, Evie? Huh?" he yelled at her, causing her to flinch. "Is it funny for you or something, pretending like we didn't have like five classes together, or ate lunch with the same group for a year? You know." Owen spat, "when I saw you at the store, after that whole weird thing you did, pretending not to know me and all – I was gonna let it go – I really was. Honestly, we weren't super close or anything, you know I didn't know anything about your home life or whatever...I thought you must have had a good reason for skipping town

It bugged me, of course, I mean how could it not." he rambled, "but I figured it just wasn't my business. And then I saw you leave with him." He waved the gun back in front of Crane. "I knew your face the second I saw you, but for the life of me I couldn't put a name to you. It ate at me for weeks, let me tell you…I feel really stupid for it not coming to me before you showed up on the news."

That piqued Crane's attention.

"Yeah, that's right – Gotham pulled itself together enough to put a shortlist out of criminals still missing from Blackgate and Arkham – they think you're dead, though. Some people say you were buried alive in The Pit, others say you were shot and tossed in the river. Real poetic shit, right?" Owen snorted.

Crane shrugged. If those asinine rumors were to be what would keep him alive and free then so be it. He looked back to Evie, who had completely frozen, he eyes glassed over. Well, this could be interesting, he thought, certain he was about to witness these emotions, these reactions to this "door" Evie had created.

That was exactly what was happening – as Owen's words sunk in, so began a terrifying game of push and pull with The Door as Darcy tried to shut herself down, go to that ethereal in-between place like she had earlier when "Crane" was questioning her. There was so much pressure, too much pressure…

"The fuck is up with her?" Owen asked Crane.

"It appears that in the last few weeks Evie has suffered a mental break." Crane's tone sounded almost bored, as he continued to watch Evie intently.

"My god...what did you even do to her?"

Although Crane longed to see how the rest of Evie's struggle with her demons would play out, he couldn't ignore Owen's current lapse in vigilance. He stealthily pulled out one of the two phials from his pocket, throwing it on the ground between Evie and her former friend. He quickly stood up, darting toward the stairs as it shattered, engulfing the other two in a haze of purple smoke.

Darcy came back to at the sound, eyes widening as the first thing she was was Owen dropping to the floor, writhing around, his mouth agape in a silent scream.

As the chemicals washed over her senses, she felt something quite...different. It was like playing a horror game: heart racing, preparing herself for the next jump-scare down the hallway. Several moments passed before she heard The Door slowly creaked open, and the voices hit her. Dozens of them, calling out to her in a range of different emotions. Evie. Eve. Lynnie. Evelyn. Michelle. Addams. And then there was his face. His face. _Hi__s face_. In newspapers and television specials, on blogs and posters and in textbooks – she had seen his likeness a thousand times over before she had been unfortunate enough to cross his path in that snowy alleyway.

Jonathan Crane: The Scarecrow.

A villain who had become her personal nightmare. A man who, for the most desperate reasons, she had tricked herself into seeing as her everything. Even loved.

Weak. Pathetic. Shameful. These feelings ripped through her body and pulled her to her knees. She didn't have it in her to be Evie again. To fight anymore. She just wanted to be Darcy – some girl from California who had hit a rough patch with her eccentric husband. Darcy didn't have to live with the memories of family and friends she would never see again, had the luxury of Crane only hurting her once. She could sleep without nightmares of blood of the floor and rotting corpses in the courtyard. Darcy was simple and happy, and her short-lived existence quickly slipped through Evie's fingers. She was gone.

Evie felt a sting in her side, and The Door, with all her most horrid memories, faded away. She was back in the living room. Owen still on the floor. Still pitch dark outside. She was being pulled to her feet.

"Evie?" Crane's voice came to her, a hoarse, hopeful whisper in her ear.

She was Evie. Entirely. And she hated it. "Yeah." she answered meekly. His arms were around her waist, and he rested his chin on top of her head and sighed.

"I missed you."

Did he though? Evie already knew the answer to that. Crane missed the way he could control her, toy with her mind like a puppet on a string. She loosened herself from his hold and walked back over to the boy on the floor. Owen. He let her copy his English notes and had dated her friend Harmony. Evie crouched down next to the unconscious boy, filled with pity that he had had thought he could just walk in here with a gun and save her, patch her life back together. The idea was almost as pathetic as her.

The gun lay about a foot away from him. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. It was heavy, but Evie felt oddly weightless as she held the small firearm. The gun was heavy, but it made her feel so free.

Two seconds. That was all it took. All it took for Evie to feel the cold metal of the muzzle against her temple before she pulled the trigger. Jonathan had heard gunfire before – several times more than he had ever wanted to – but this shot sounded utterly different. Unearthly. Harrowing.

Crane stood not far from her body. His limbs felt numb as he walked to her, kneeling down. Her blonde hair was soaked and matted with blood, and her face looked so peaceful. Not even in sleep had she ever bore such an expression around him. Only one thought rang clear in his head, as he gently cupped her cold face in his hand...

What a shame.

* * *

**Edit 07-10-2015 - For now I'm done making any sort of edits to the story. Maybe someday I'll revisit and make more changes (there was a lot more I wanted to write but didn't want the story to have more filler than plot). I'm still pleased with how the story came out though, so maybe not.**

**I've gotten some really positive messages and questions since this chapter went up, and it's gotten something like 5k+ views in the last 10 days as well which is really something. Probably the most popular question I've received since pretty much the beginning was if Crane loved Evie at any point, and I have to say - he really didn't. Honestly. I feel like I made that plenty clear at several points in the story, and I just really can't stress enough that even if he did, it wouldn't make any part of this story okay.**

**I made Plaything as a sort of critique on the whole trope of "girl gets kidnapped at raped" thing - which is so popular on here oh my god. More often than not in these fics, the girl falls for her attacker (some serious Stockholm shit, basically), and even the attacker sort of begins to love her in a weird way, and everything sort of turns out alright by the final chapter and they'll start a "real" relationship or what have you. I did not want that here. It was really top priority for me to come up with an ending that really showed how little Crane cared for Evie (as a person). It was so SO important for me to clearly portray him as an abuser and a manipulator, and nothing else. Crane rapes Evie to regain the sense of power and control he lacked from eight years in prison. He keeps her around as a resource to maintain those feelings at his whim. A story like this really has no business getting romantic. **

**Another question I recieved was if I would consider a sequel involving Owen. Probably not. Evie was the only thing holding Crane back from going all out Scarecrow. Now that she's dead, his demons are back; he'll return to Gotham or start over in some other metropolis and return to his unethical, shady practices. I have no desire to write about all of that.**

**Thanks to everyone who messaged me with good feedback, and also those who have recently educated me about certain other triggers to add to this story.**

**~Lilli S.**


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